Out of the Darkness
by Neuronerd
Summary: AU: Specials are used as slaves and Sylar finds himself caught in the system. His owner is part of the problem, but can Peter and the others be trusted or should he make a break for it?
1. Unbroken

**A/N: I just can't seem to give this up. I went a whole year without writing anything, but like a mosquito bite you can only ignore the itch for so long before you give in. So here we are: totally AU in a world where specials are slaves much like the 1860's. Sylar is circa Season 1- the killer we all love and miss and Peter has all his powers. Reviews would be love!**

**Chapter 1- Unbroken**

It was desperately hot and he might have fainted there on the spot if his chained wrists were not pulling his arms taught above his head in such a painful way to keep him alert. Beads of sweat trickled down his temples to mix with the grime and blood on his face and it itched, but he couldn't scratch it- just another way to try to break him he guessed. Pretty clever, but he wasn't going to give in. Not the starvation, not the humiliation, nothing they could do would make him give in.

The tent he was being held in was packed full of others like him. Well, truthfully, no one was quite like him, but they did have abilities or else they wouldn't be there. He resented being treated like an animal, chained and made to kneel on the straw floor until a potential buyer wanted to inspect him and he was made to stand and submit to all manner of indignities such as showing his teeth or allowing himself to be groped as the trader and the buyer spoke of his potential worth. It wasn't like he was anything close to being fully clothed, so he guessed at least some of them just wanted to cop a feel and there was nothing he could do about it but pretend not to care.

Although the trader had a lower value on him than he believed himself to be worth, it had been a full week since his arrival and there were no takers. It might have had something to do with his somewhat emaciated and obviously damaged frame. Nothing screamed troublemaker quite like fresh blood and bruises and his reputation was well earned. In his mind, there was no way he could be content with a mundane life, much less one of servitude, so if they killed him for his defiance they would actually be doing him a favor.

Ever since it became known that specials existed thanks to government leaks relating to Nathan's work, there was an enormous backlash and it was to be expected on some level, but the amount of hysteria took them all by surprise. In very short order they were hunted and implanted with a chip in the back of the neck that served as a means of registration and control via the slow release of long acting ability suppressing chemicals and neural interfacing that when activated, served the same purpose as a shock collar on a dog. Initially it was meant for the public's safety, but it wasn't long before insanity and greed took over and before anyone knew it, specials were being co-opted into research studies and dangerous jobs without their consent. It was just a small hop from that to the current situation where specials were seen as predatory, less than human, and expendable. It was predictable in his eyes- humans desperately fear what they do not understand and he had been able to lay low and use his abilities to evade capture up until now.

The back of his neck itched from the slowly healing incision and he wondered if it might be infected. He wasn't really in the most sanitary of conditions and it wasn't like his captor really cared anyway. The trader was a cruel, petty man who took great pleasure in the suffering of his livestock from the time he caught them to the eventual sale and then the cycle would begin again. He noted the trader at the other end of the tent pointing out a young woman to a couple probably looking for a nanny or housekeeper. The very sight of him made him sick. The trader was a morbidly obese man who waddled along, constantly wheezing and mopping his round face with a handkerchief to stem the torrent of sweat that flowed off his bald head.

The woman was made to stand as she was looked over like a side of beef. She briefly caught his eyes, but looked away in shame as she should. He knew her well enough to know that she was the reason he was there. He made the grand mistake of stumbling across her hiding under an overpass near New Orleans, starving and desperate. Her ability was luminescence, not terribly handy for survival when you are trying to go unnoticed. He had been running for so long he knew it was exhausting, but not all specials were like him and if he was tired he could imagine how she felt. He actually gave her what little food he had and fell asleep in the shade of her shelter thinking that he would be safe. He had underestimated her desperation and although he couldn't remember how it all happened exactly, he surmised that she turned him in to local authorities who snuck up on him while he slept and injected him before dragging him away. There was great reward for turning specials in and she no doubt hoped to reap the benefits, but she was caught in her own web and he didn't feel sorry for her at all. He was grateful, however, that the trader didn't seem to know what he had or the price tag would certainly be higher. There were collectors that would pay a pretty penny for him to be sure, but he had played that game before and won- and he would again given half a chance.

Apparently a deal was struck and the couple led the woman away by her chains like one would walk a new dog out of a pet store with her trailing behind, trying not to cry. The parade passed right in front of him and he gave the woman one last glare to send her on her way, but this only earned him a crack in the mouth by the trader's cane. His lip stung as it swelled and he knew it was only a warning shot. Sure enough, it wasn't long before he waddled back in to finish what he started.

The trader forced the man to stand by roughly yanking the chain that hung from the ceiling and took great pleasure when he winced in pain and swayed slightly with dizziness. "You had better behave yourself, _boy_," he spat in his face, "I got good buyers today and you are starting to cost me more money than you're worth." The man said nothing, but his clenched jaw and determined eyes said all the trader needed to hear. "Is that how it's gonna be?" He smiled leaning in a little closer to run his pudgy hand along his prisoner's inner thigh. The man's eyes widened briefly in what the trader hoped was fear or disgust- he really didn't care as long as it served his purpose of control. "My, but you are a fighter as I remember." He whispered into the man's ear and then gave it a quick flick with his tongue.

This last insult was more than the man could bear as something very primal in him took hold. Yes, the trader had violated him in the worst way on more than one occasion and he couldn't fight back. He tried with all he had, but the trader's weight pinned him down like a ton of bricks and the sounds and smells of those awful memories came rushing back with a vengeance and he knew it could happen again. Without his powers he… he couldn't stop it. Putting the full force of his body weight on his wrists, he pulled himself up and actually managed to bring his knee up fast enough into the trader's crotch to catch him off guard. The fat man stumbled backwards, face reddened as he coughed and wheezed and fished in his pocket. The man knew what was coming and he braced himself as well as he could.

The trader removed a small remote control from his pocket and held down the button that sent a stream of burning fire through his captive's entire nervous system via the freshly implanted chip, making him gasp, convulse, spit, and scream all at the same time. The sight of it all relieved the pain somewhat and although he did have to make an example of the upstart, he knew that if he held the button too long he could do serious damage. He wanted to shock the hell out of him until he begged for mercy, but he knew that time would never come. He had never quite met a special as head strong as this one. He released the button and waited for the man to regain some semblance of consciousness before coldly stating, "I will either break you or I'll kill you. Either way, you won't win." He left him hanging there by his bleeding wrists, drawing ragged and painful breaths to ponder that thought while he made his way to the front of the tent to greet a loyal customer. "Ms. Siegel! How nice to see you on this hot day!"

Maria Siegel absolutely hated the despicable Barnaby Tipton, but she had done so much business with him that all she could do was flash a well practiced disingenuous smile at his approach. Her assistant glanced inside the tent with sad eyes and swallowed at the sight of so much misery all in one place. "Mr. Tipton, I heard that you were in town and I know you are the man to find when a deal is to be made."

"Well, I do try, Ms. Siegel. Anything for you. Did you get my flowers?" He puffed as he wiped the oily sheen from his forehead.

"I did." She nodded lightly. "They were wonderful, thank you."

"Well," he bashfully shrugged, "pity what happened to your husband. He was a good man. He and I did a lot of business together you know. Did they ever catch the filthy mutant that did it?"

"No." She said quietly. "And I don't expect they will."

"Damn shame." He lamented as he looked her assistant over. "I remember that one. Come to bring him back?"

"No," she smiled giving her companion a light pat on the shoulder, "he is my personal assistant."

"I see." He answered with a sick twinkle in his eye that alluded to something more carnal.

"Not in that way, Mr. Tipton." She gently chided. "But all of my help that has come from your stock have been of the highest caliber and that is what brings me here today. I am always on the lookout for more good hands to keep my estate running." And what an estate she had. Maria and the honorable Mr. Bryant Siegel had built an empire in the pharmaceutical industry by formulating the very compounds that kept specials from using their abilities.

"Well, lucky for you I just got a fresh supply." He obliged gesturing to the tent and leading the way. "Looking for anything specific? A man servant? A cook?"

"I'm not certain." She replied trying her best to keep her wits in the face of such barbarism. Her stomach churned at the smell of unwashed bodies and the flies that crawled over bare and sometimes broken skin. And those dead eyes- eyes of people whose very souls have been crushed because they were different. The fact that she made her fortune off of the very drugs that even now seeped into their bodies was not lost on her. Her assistant gave her a guarded look which warned her that she was dangerously close to betraying herself and she steeled her eyes once more. "It's just one of those things that you know it when you see it."

"Indeed." Tipton blubbered on, thankfully oblivious.

"How about that one?" Her assistant asked pointing to the unruly man as he still hung from his chained wrists.

"Hmmm." She frowned looking at his pale face with the dark and determined eyes. "$1,000? The price is a little high. Does he lay golden eggs or what?"

"$1,000 is quite a fair price for a male of his age." Tipton stammered. "And his chip is in good working order," he fished for the remote and both the prisoner and her assistant flinched, "so he doesn't 'do' anything." She continued to stare down at him and he steadily held her gaze. Although the man tried to hide it, his eyes betrayed him as just for a split second they recognized her assistant and she noticed. "Speaking of," Tipton proclaimed shaking his remote before pointing it at the assistant and pushing the button, "his must be on the fritz. Working now, but you'd better get that replaced. You don't want him runnin' amok with all his abilities."

The assistant let out a strangled whimper before he lost his balance and fell to the floor nearly hyperventilating. The chained man managed to find it funny and smirked. "And this one?" Maria asked tilting her head toward her potential property. "What can you tell me about him?"

"Not much, I'm afraid." Tipton shrugged. "He came to me out of Louisiana and you know we don't ask too many questions from those boys down there." She arched her eyebrow and the fat man caved. "Alright, Ms. Siegel. I'll be honest that you don't want him on account of his being trouble. I haven't broke him yet," he paused to give him a mighty swing to the ribs with his cane, "but I will if it's the last thing I do."

Maria watched the man cough and try valiantly not to show how much it hurt and inside she wanted to scream, but instead she coolly said, "Now you will have to give me a discount for damaged property. He obviously isn't fit for manual labor- that much is clear just by looking at him."

"We can always use more domestic help." Her assistant offered after he had recovered from having his chip reset.

"Really, Ms. Siegel, I can't let you make this mistake. He won't work for you." Tipton shook his head. "He'd probably kill you in your sleep the first chance he got. Goddamn savage." He kicked him again and this time there was no restraint and the man's eyes brimmed with tears from the pain and his face flushed, but his eyes were hard as obsidian. Who was really the savage here?

"Every time you strike him, the less I will pay." She cooed lightly, reaching down to cradle the prisoner's face in her hands. "Besides, this one is quite handsome. Perhaps I can use a…._personal_…..assistant." Her actual assistant looked vaguely uncomfortable.

"Well, far be it from me to question your uses." Tipton sputtered, obviously turned on by her innuendo. "Shall we finish business over cocktails while your man takes care of the dirty work?"

"Sounds delightful." She smiled, giving her new acquisition a light tap on the side of the face and a wink before turning away and departing arm in arm with the trader.

"Peter." The man greeted with half disgust and half wonder. "What the hell…"

"I know." Peter nodded with a small smile while he worked on unchaining his former nemesis. "Imagine my surprise to see you here. The big bad Sylar got bagged and tagged."


	2. My Name Is

**Chapter 2- My Name Is…**

Sylar sat in the back of the luxury car stoically, his exposed skin sticking to the pristine white leather interior while Peter fumbled with his handcuffs.

"Is that too tight?" He asked with a worried look on his face. The only answer he got was a stony sideways glance from those dark eyes. "I can loosen them if they are." He offered before huffing an indignant, "Whatever" after realizing that it was futile.

Peter Petrelli. Sylar was internally conflicted about the man that sat next to him in the back of the car. He both hated and somewhat admired the man that was probably the closest thing he could ever call an equal. Not really, but close. He tilted his head slightly and quietly asked, "What is it like?"

Peter gave an irritated sigh before asking, "What is what like?" He just knew this was some sort of mind game and he didn't want to play. He didn't have to- he wasn't the one nearly naked and trying desperately to hang on to some shred of his dignity.

"What's it like being your owner's lapdog?" he persisted. "Does she give you some table scraps if you're good?"

"You don't even know what you're talking about." Peter shook his head slowly. "Once more fate throws a golden ticket in your lap and you don't even know enough to be grateful. We could have left you there," Peter paused before adding, "with _Tipton_." Sylar's eyes narrowed, but his fast beating heart was plainly visible in the pulsating arteries in his neck. Peter knew what that meant- he was trying hard to look menacing while inside he was secretly having a panic attack.

"Peter, I am ready to go now." Maria commanded as she deftly slid into the front passenger seat.

"Yes, Ma'am." Peter nodded, taking the wheel to chauffeur them back to the huge gated mansion that they called home. Sylar looked passively out the window at the massive structure and it might as well have been a prison with guard towers as far as he was concerned. Already he was plotting ways he might make a getaway.

"Peter, bring him inside and go to work." She instructed calmly. Sylar was perplexed because her face was absolutely unreadable and without his powers, he was left to his own devices. If he had to guess, he didn't think she had the best intentions for him despite what Petrelli said. Peter was easily tricked and had been wrong before.

'C'mon." Peter gestured after he had opened the car door for him. "Let's go. You heard the mistress."

Sylar wanted to spit nails, but he had very few options but to struggle to his feet, decline repeated attempts at help from Peter to walk on his own, and stumble up the steps and into the house while retaining the last vestiges of his dignity that he could muster.

"Konichiwa. Welcome to the Siegel residence." Hiro called as he held the door open and bowed. His smile faded and he almost whispered, "Brain man?"

"A Japanese butler?" Sylar mumbled to himself.

"Thanks, Hiro." Peter nodded kindly as he gently prodded Sylar forward. "Could you do me a favor and call Mohinder and ask him to make some soup and send it up?" He quickly glanced at Sylar's shoulder blades sticking out painfully from his back. "You must be hungry." He added with a frown.

"Mohinder?" He hissed. "You expect me to eat anything he has made after he poisoned me?"

"That was a long time ago." Peter reminded as he removed the handcuffs from his charge. "You sent shards of glass into my head that day and killed me, but here we are." He shrugged with a lopsided smile.

"He should be the butler." Sylar observed as he wearily followed Peter up the stairs. "At least he sounds British."

Maria met them at the top of the stairs and smiled warmly. There was something definitely different this time, Sylar thought. She seemed more…relaxed. Genuine. Something like that…anything but the person she was when she was dealing with Tipton. She was nothing special to look at in his estimation, average in almost every way except for the fact that she exuded power in ways eerily similar to Angela. No wonder she had Peter eating out of her palm. "Welcome." She smiled gently placing her hand on his bare shoulder to steer him toward a bedroom off the hall. "This will be your room for the time being. Feel free to shower. I'll have Peter get you some clean clothes and Mohinder should have some food up here shortly for you. I know you must be exhausted and I promise you can rest as long as you need to, but I would like to have Peter check you out before you crash. Would that be ok?"

He paused before answering because he noticed the remote control dangling from her hand. Did he really have a choice? He gave a hard look at Peter and nodded quickly. Truthfully he didn't want anyone looking at him or touching him- much less Peter- but he would endure it if he could be clean, fed, and clothed once more so he could feel something like human again.

"Great. You know, I don't think Tipton was lying when he said he didn't know much about you. Your papers didn't even have your name on them." She stated in a mysterious tone.

"Sylar." He said simply. "My name is Sylar." It irritated him when she didn't seem to recognize what that meant.

"No it isn't." Peter interjected. When Maria looked at him questioningly, he corrected, "I mean it is, but.." he gave an exasperated sigh and turned to Sylar, "we can't call you that. Not in public. It will put everyone here in danger. Your name…" he glanced at Maria, "his name is Gabriel."

"Gabriel." She repeated with an approving nod. "I like it."

"I don't." Sylar sneered.

"We will call you Sylar as long as no one else is around." Peter promised. "But if there is, you are Gabriel and pretty soon you will figure out why."

Luckily, Peter put his paramedic skills to work and it was all over before he knew it. He really thought the emo would obsess over every cut and scrape, but at the end of it all he was instructed to scrub his wounds well with soap while he was in the shower and that was that.

True to her word, he was given comfortable cotton pajamas to sleep in and all the chicken noodle soup he could eat. He didn't finish the first bowl, but the comfort lie in the fact that he knew he could have more if he wanted it. As he lay back and sank into the fluffy pillows and clean sheets, he felt his many aches and pains subside and he began to question why his owner would go to such trouble. Surely this was some kind of a setup and he had to be on the lookout, but… for now… he would… just….

Maria met Peter in the hall as he quietly shut the door to Sylar's room. She noted the mostly full bowl of soup and frowned. "He's out cold." Peter reported in a whisper. He followed her gaze and added, "I didn't expect him to eat much even if he was hungry. It will take a few days for him to eat normally. I would guess that he has been starved for a few weeks."

She took the bowl from him and together they walked to the kitchen. "What else did you find?"

"Well, the usual malnutrition and dehydration. But like I said, he will get over that in a few days. Miscellaneous cuts and bruises of various ages." He shrugged.

"And?" She prompted. "Peter, I have known you for awhile and I know when you are holding out." She gently scolded.

He shifted his weight uncomfortably and asked, "Can we discuss this in private?"

"Sure." She granted. She dropped the bowl off in the kitchen and greeted Mohinder as he chopped vegetables for the evening meal before walking with Peter to the horse barn at the back of the property.

"Hey, Maria!" Matt called as he waved. A chestnut kept nuzzling Peter's ear as he stood near the stall and he had no choice but to smile and pet the animal's muzzle. "Sorry, she hasn't had her snack yet." Matt smiled tossing an apple to Peter so he could feed the hungry horse before she took his ear off.

"Matt, could you…" Maria nodded suggestively at the open barn door.

It took a second before he got the hint. "Oh, yeah! I mean, I was just going to go…do…yeah." He said hastily as he made for the exit.

"Ok, your secret is now safe with myself and the horses." She smiled. "And you are bribing that one with an apple. I don't think she'll tell."

He gave the happy horse another stroke before his eyes grew dark and Maria knew this was not good. "Um.." he began uncertainly, "he wouldn't really let me check him out too close, but I think that kick Tipton gave him to the ribs might have fractured them. I can tell by the way he favors them and the slight change in his posture."

"Ok." She nodded trying not to think about the sickening sound that kick made against his flesh. "So we'll keep him on bed rest for what? 6 weeks?"

"Depends on how fast he can heal." Peter replied quietly. "It will be slower given the fact that he's not healthy."

"Ok, so as long as you think then." She easily agreed. "Keep an eye on him and you make the call. Anything else?"

Peter's eyes fell to the ground and he began tracing a small arc in the dirt floor with the toe of his shoe. "I.." he stammered before letting out a heavy sigh.

She moved closer to him to put an arm across his shoulders. "Peter, I have never seen you like this. Whatever it is, you can tell me."

He looked up at her with a squint and asked, "How well do you know Tipton?"

She looked surprised. "Well, he was a business partner of Bryant's, but I have known him for about 10 years. Why?"

"Maria, I know you had a hard time today when you seen all those people in the tent. But what you don't know, what you don't see is what goes on when the buyers aren't around." He said cautiously. "Sometimes not all injuries are on the outside for everyone to see."

"Peter, what are you getting at?" She asked with a sense of dread. She knew full well that the slave trade was a dirty one and as Tipton said, not too many questions were asked.

"Sometimes Tipton uses…" he sighed and shook his head, "he forces himself on his slaves as a means of intimidation or humiliation."

Her face went pale as the implication set in. "So you think that he…"

"Yes." Peter answered quietly. "99% sure."

"Oh my god." She breathed, clearly horrified. "I never thought he'd…" she trailed off and her eyes darted to her assistant. "I bought you from him. Did he…" Peter swallowed hard and looked at the ground. She wrapped her arms around him and cried. "Peter, I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

"It's ok." He reassured her, patting her on the back as she sobbed. "It was a long time ago and you got me out of there, right? It doesn't matter now, but we have to keep it up. You can't let on that you know when you see him, ok? You can't give yourself away like that. Either of them."

"Ok." She nodded, pulling herself together. "It just keeps getting harder."

"I know." He agreed somberly.

"But that's why I have you." She smiled bravely. "I take it you know him. An old friend of yours?"

Peter gave his lopsided smile and scoffed, "Something like that."

She shoved her hands in her pockets and said, "That reminds me, I was going to do this earlier…" She pulled out the remote control and asked tentatively, "Ready?" Peter took a deep breath and closed his eyes. There was a quick jolt that ran throughout his body that was replaced by a feeling of normalcy when she once again deactivated his chip. "Better?" She asked with a knowing smile.

"Much." He smiled relieved. "I'm so hungry I could eat a horse." He glanced at the chestnut and quickly added, "But not you, though. Not unless you tell anyone what you just heard."


	3. Taking in Strays

**Chapter 3- Taking in Strays**

The dinner table was abuzz about the estate's new guest…but Maria wasn't around to hear it because she sat in the massive dining room in the mansion, eating her dinner alone while the slaves ate together in the common hall in a small enclave of buildings on the east side of the property. Decorum would have it no other way. She simply couldn't be seen eating with the slaves- certainly not as guests in her home and most certainly not in their quarters. Some things just couldn't be disputed and for the most part all understood. She took a bite of the delicious meal Mohinder had prepared and glanced up at the ceiling as though she could see thought it into Sylar's room where as far as she knew, he still slept- peacefully oblivious to the world around him. He was an exception as most new slaves were, but the moment that Peter gave his blessing, he would be moved out of the main house and into the quarters with the others as soon as he was well enough.

In the dining hall, it was a time to be with friends and to share tales of the day over food. They all knew that they had it good- much better than other specials at other farms and estates, so when the talk turned to complaining about this chore or that rule, the others were quick to remind the malcontent that they should instead stuff their face with the nutritious food that was provided them and shut up. And invariably, someone would chime, "At least you aren't over at Jessup's." That usually ended the conversation because everyone at the table knew Arthur Jessup and his reputation as a cruel master rivaled Sylar's. He thought nothing of killing his slaves outright if they did not do his bidding and once or twice, Maria's slaves had been loaned out to help with various projects and came back worse for wear. He lived just a mile away, so for all intents and purposes, he was Maria's neighbor- all the more reason to be cautious. Once in awhile, Jessup's slaves would come in contact with Maria's at the property line and exchange stories while they worked and it wasn't unusual for Maria's stock to slip them a piece of fruit or bread since he hardly fed them. It was Peter's idea, of course, but Maria tacitly approved by consistently signing the inflated grocery bill he handed her every month, never asking him where all the food went.

"So is it true?" Ando asked his best friend with a giddy grin. "You actually saw Sylar?"

"Hai." Hiro nodded helping himself to more chicken and vegetables. "He is upstairs in the house. He did not look so good."

"That must have been some feat. I can't imagine he went quietly." Mohinder mused shaking his head. "I wonder how they managed to catch him."

"No one knows." Peter answered. "And it's not like he's going to tell us. The point is, he is here so we will all have to get used to it….again."

Matt took a drink of his water and set the glass down with a decisive thud. "Why? Why do we have to keep letting that psycho stick around? After everything he has done to us, he can go sleep with the horses for all I care."

Mohinder chuckled deviously. "The horses have done nothing to deserve his company. Perhaps he'd be more comfortable with spiders and snakes- or cockroaches."

Most of the table found his observation funny and when the laughter died down, Peter said "Well, he's going to be over there for awhile. I just thought I'd warn you so when you are over at the main house working you know what to expect."

"Good thing Ando and I are outside most of the time." Matt groused.

"Yes. I'd rather be outside in the garden all day when it's 100 degrees than be in there with him for 2 minutes." Ando agreed.

"That's very well for you, my friend, but I will be trapped in the kitchen. Good thing I have a handy supply of sharp knives at my disposal." Mohinder smiled. "And as I presume he is chipped, I won't have to worry about them flying back at me."

"C'mon, guys." Peter sighed patiently. "Don't you think we should just give him a chance?"

He was met with a resounding chorus of "No."

Undeterred, he continued. "Look, I know he's made some mistakes…"

"Mistakes?" Matt almost spit out his water. "Is that what we're calling them now?"

"…but he doesn't have his powers now. He's not dangerous."

"Oh, no." Hiro disagreed while he pushed his glasses up on his nose with purpose. "Brain man is always dangerous because he is a bad man. He doesn't need powers to be evil."

Peter rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. "Guys, don't you remember how pissed off you were after you were captured? Some of us had a harder time of it than others," he paused to glance at Mohinder who began stabbing at a wayward green bean to avoid his gaze, "but each of us were not exactly ourselves because of the system. He's not going to be either."

Matt raised his index finger to speak and added, "Yeah, but you're forgetting that Sylar was pretty much a dick before, so, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that's going to be a personality trait for him."

Peter put his hands up in mock surrender. "Fine. You don't have to be his best friend, and maybe you can even argue that he doesn't deserve to be here, but he is and sooner rather than later you'll have to deal with him."

"Have you any idea how much self restraint it took not to spit in his soup or perhaps spill rat poison in it knowing that he is mortal and it would actually work?" Mohinder asked darkly. "The man murdered my father and then had the audacity to play charades with me so I could lead him to more victims. He has no conscience whatsoever and I fear that his being here will put Maria and all of us at risk."

"I know." Peter admitted. "I plan on talking to him soon. Probably when he starts feeling better."

"Better not wait that long," Ando warned, "the minute he feels ok, he will burn the entire place down to get away."

"Does Maria know?" Hiro timidly asked while he took the last freshly baked roll from the center plate.

Peter looked vaguely guilty. "No."

"Don't you feel you should tell her what she has brought into her home? She trusts you, Peter." Mohinder reminded.

"I know she does." He nodded getting up from the table and heading for the door. "I'll take care of it."

Upstairs in the mansion, Sylar stirred and yawned before languidly opening his dark eyes and he slowly blinked the fog of deep sleep away. He was still in the room- it wasn't a dream after all. In his dreams he believed he still had his powers and specials were not hunted, well, anymore than they used to be. He was once more in control and took what he wanted, walking through the world but never a part of it- he was better than that. But that was just a dream and he felt a sense of loss and disappointment when he realized that he was again nothing special. He wasn't even the boring watchmaker from Queens, he was less than that now and he hated every second of it.

He gingerly sat on the edge of the bed until his head stopped spinning and then he slowly stood up to make his way to the bathroom. There was a window to his left by the head of the bed and he paused to look out. Directly outside was a large oak tree and sitting on a branch by the window was a small black cat, staring directly at him with its eerie yellow eyes.

He never had pets growing up, but he read a lot about it and he could respect the solitary nature of the common house cat. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more they had in common with his own worldview. Despite the pain caused by his ribs, he lifted the sash and leaned on the sill. "Hey, kitty." He greeted in a low voice. "Are you keeping an eye on me?" The little cat regarded him in silence causing him to smirk in appreciation. "I see. If you are, you're not telling."

He managed to straighten himself and get to his destination without passing out, which was unexpected. He did find himself leaning on the sink for support as his head swam the whole time, but even he knew it was because he was so dehydrated. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out, the small amount of dark brown urine he managed to rid himself of had an incredibly strong smell of concentrated ammonia and he was quick to flush it away. One of the mildly annoying things about not having his powers was not just knowing what time it was, but it was dark outside and if he had to guess, it had been a good 9 hours since he last ate. Sadly, he didn't have much to show for it and he ate and drank as much as he could reliably hold without vomiting. It obviously wasn't enough.

He splashed cold water on his face and glanced in the mirror at the pale reflection with dark circles under his eyes. He swore he had aged 10 years since he lost his abilities. He looked- and felt- so much older. His entire body ached from various insults and that was something he hadn't had to deal with since taking Claire's ability to heal. Now every throb of every cut and bruise reminded him of the beating he had taken and it made him feel helpless and weak. Sylar wouldn't…but as he looked at the pathetic reflection staring back at him he realized that he wasn't Sylar anymore. Not exactly. They may have won for now, but he was determined to get his powers back again. He just had to watch and wait for his opportunity…

He drank some water from the tap, trying to get down as much as possible both to replenish his desiccated body and to avoid carrying a glass back to the bed because he was certain he would spill it. He felt so dizzy and nauseous, he thought it might pass if he could just get back to the bed to lay down. He opened the bathroom door and made it a few steps before it became clear that he wasn't going to make it. He wheeled back around and had just enough time to get to his knees in front of the toilet before he wretched and returned all of the water he just drank and possibly then some. Even though he had emptied himself completely in the first go, his stomach clenched and writhed within him for what seemed like eternity until he lay his head on his arm above the bowl in utter exhaustion. His head throbbed painfully and he gave a few weak, raw coughs while he pondered his options. He knew he was too weak to get up and walk to the bed, but he certainly didn't want to stay where he was. Maybe he could crawl…that way if he passed out, he was already near the floor. As far as he was concerned, if no one else saw it, it didn't happen and no one but himself had to know.

A blurry flash caught his attention and he glanced up to see the black cat seated neatly on the corner of the sink staring down at him as it curled its tail around its feet. He hadn't noticed before, but the cat was missing part of its left ear- no doubt in a fight and it looked a little scrawny. It was no doubt a stray left to fend for itself. He waited for it to do something, but it seemed content to just watch the pathetic human. Perhaps it was because of his current condition, but something in the way the cat stared at him just seemed contemptuous. Sylar smirked despite himself and said, "If you were one of your bigger cousins I would worry that you were here to eat me. I guess you can sense weakness just as well as they can." The cat seemed completely disinterested in the dialogue. "So you're just here to mock me then." He surmised. "Fair enough."


	4. The Big Secret

**Chapter 4- The Big Secret**

"Wake up, sunshine." Peter taunted shaking Sylar's shoulder lightly.

It took a few minutes, but the scruffy looking man grunted and yawned himself awake amid the twisted sheets and the one remaining pillow on the bed- the rest had been knocked off into the floor sometime during the night. Peter surveyed the damage and chuckled. "Looks like you found a friend."

Sylar opened one eye to see the cat lounging comfortably by his head, meticulously cleaning its paw as though it had every right in the world to be there. "Of course he would choose you," Peter continued clearly amused, "he just showed up last week. Mohinder tried to feed him and the damn thing bit him."

Sylar watched the cat continue its morning bath and he mumbled, "I knew I liked you for a reason." The cat allowed him to touch its paw, but quickly cleaned it again. Sylar knew all about that- he usually felt dirty after people touched him too.

"We'll see if Maria lets you keep him. He probably has fleas." He said disparagingly eying the wayward feline. "Anyway, drink up." He placed two bottles of plain Pedialyte on the bedside table along with a tablet of Phenergan to prevent vomiting and noted the mistrustful glare of his patient. "It's either that or I give you an IV drip, which I may have to do anyway if you can't keep that down. I heard you last night." He squinted knowingly.

"How do you know it was me?" He asked suspiciously. This house is huge, it could have been anyone."

His absolute resistance to coping to any shade of weakness simply amazed Peter. Admittedly, vomiting wasn't exactly a glamorous activity, but everybody has done it at some point in their lives and while it may not be something to be proud of, there was no need to be ashamed of it either. "Dude," he scoffed shaking his head in bewilderment, "I was outside last night and I know which room is yours. You left the window open, remember? I could hear you a mile away."

"Why were you spying on me?" He asked defensively.

"Jesus!" Peter laughed. "Get over yourself. I do have responsibilities around here outside of you, you know."

"Yes." Sylar quietly replied. "I imagine rolling over for your master on command takes quite a bit of practice to perfect."

"It's not what you think." He reminded. "Like you have it so bad here. Ever think of that? Are you chained to the bed? In fact, you have a pretty nice bed to sleep in don't you? Clean clothes to wear, your own bathroom to shower when and as long as you want, and the medicine you need to get better. I know it's not in your nature, Sylar, but you should be thankful- most aren't as lucky as we are."

"Do you know how foie gras is made?" He asked valiantly pretending it didn't hurt to roll over to sit up in bed. "A duck is fed more than it needs in order to fatten it for slaughter. So you can pretend that your owner is some kind of Florence Nightingale come to ease the suffering of us unfortunate specials, but it is only a matter of time, Peter, before you too outlive your usefulness. Although, I have to say that you seem to have done a fair job of making yourself more difficult to dispose of so easily."

Peter looked bored. "You know, Sylar, without your abilities to clue you in, you are pretty dense. I didn't believe the stories I used to hear about you before you became what you are. No way could someone be that socially inept, but my god I think they might have been right." Sylar blinked in stunned surprise. "Surely in all of your time running you have heard about how specials are generally treated. We are less than human, less than animals, even. Did you know there are no laws against killing a special? We are legally property, Sylar, no more than a chair or a piece of jewelry. But there are a few good, decent people out there like Maria who don't see us like that and they do everything they can to help us, but it's just as risky for them as it is for us. Do you know what happens if is she gets caught helping anyone? The government will swoop in, seize all of her assets and execute her for treason."

"Why treason?" He asked slowly. As far as he knew, owners could do what they liked with slaves because there were very few mandated guidelines to be followed.

"I am going to tell you, but Sylar, I swear to God Almighty if you breathe a word to anyone I will kill you myself." The conviction in his voice was more than enough proof that he would carry through with it if challenged. "She, along with others, gets specials out of the system by moving them steadily north to Canada until they are free." Sylar tried not to let his mouth hang open, but he couldn't help it. He always thought it was a rumor- the wishful thinking of the condemned. For the most part, Canada and Western Europe had resisted the urge to give into international pressure and refused to sign the NATO agreement to register specials. He probably could have made it there himself before he was caught, but he believed that the hysteria would die down sooner or later and he could stay in his own country. Crossing the border was a near impossibility these days anyway. "It's treason because it violates the presidential directive against harboring or aiding specials. This is serious and I will not let you screw it up for her or anyone else here."

It finally started to click for him. "So then you all just pretend while you wait your turn?"

"No, not pretend." Peter laughed. "We actually have to work like anyone else. It isn't all wine and roses. Sometimes we get loaned out to other owners and we can't let on about what goes on here. That's why we will call you Gabriel if someone's around who's not in the know and during that time, we all observe proper etiquette like never calling Maria by her first name or not making eye contact with her and the only words that ever come out our mouths are 'yes ma'am' or 'no ma'am.' There might be times when she has to do or say things that are harmful, but we don't take it personally, she can't let others be suspicious of her true motivations."

He brought his knees up to his chest with a small wince and reiterated, "So you do pretend."

"Sometimes, I guess." Peter shrugged. "Everything is secret codes and body language, but you will pick it up."

Sylar removed the pill from the blister pack and washed it down with small sips of the slightly off-putting taste of the Pedialyte. "So what happened to her husband?"

Peter immediately stiffened and became suspicious. "Why do you want to know?"

"Back at the tent, Tipton suggested he met an untimely end at the hands of a special." He explained. "Did one of his slaves revolt?" After Peter remained stubbornly silent, he smirked. "It probably wasn't me, Peter. Not every misdeed is my fault."

"This time I think it was." He said darkly.

The smirk slid off Sylar's face. "You think I did it?" He asked intrigued.

Peter's eyes were uncharacteristically hard and it thrilled Sylar in some small way. "What most people didn't know was that Bryant had an ability too. He could persuade people to do what he wanted which is how he managed to evade detection." Sylar's eyes flicked to the side and Peter could tell he was replaying a memory in his head. "He was on a business trip in Atlanta when he was found in the woods with a line cut across his forehead and a stick buried deep in his chest like a stake. Now that last part is new, but the rest is your calling card. The police searched the scene, but didn't find any footprints or fingerprints." Sylar sat in silence for what seemed an eternity holding Peter's glare unapologetically. "But you didn't get his power, did you?" He challenged.

"No." Sylar quietly replied. "I thought killing him was a better idea." Even as he said it, it seemed improbable.

Peter shook his head with a sad smile. "No, _he_ thought killing him was a better idea." Sylar swallowed and his eyes faltered just enough to let Peter know that it had never occurred to him that the notion had been planted and that he had been manipulated to the very end.

"So what now?" He asked in a low voice. "Are you going to tell the mistress so she can take me out in the barn and whip me to death?"

"Although you might deserve it, I think it's better she doesn't know." He responded. "She's been through enough without having to look at her husband's killer every day."

"Does she have a power too?" He asked downing more of the bland liquid.

"Don't even think about it!" Peter warned with a stern glare.

Sylar was amused by his sudden protectiveness. "Peter, I couldn't do anything if I wanted to. I don't have my powers anymore, remember?" He lightly taunted.

"No, she doesn't." He warily answered. "Not all heroes have abilities, you know."

He took another long, slow drag from the bottle and with a menacing look added, "And not everyone with abilities is a hero."

Peter gave him a disgusted look, picked up one of the pillows from the floor, and tossed it back on the bed. The cat was startled by his actions and defiantly hissed at him. "I see you two are going to be best friends." He noted sarcastically.

Sylar chuckled deviously and finished off his liquid breakfast.


	5. A Day Job

**Chapter 5- A Day Job**

"Maria." Peter greeted after quietly closing the massive oak door to the study. "You wanted to see me?"

"Peter!" She smiled. "Come have a seat." He took a chair opposite her desk where she shuffled through piles of paper that he assumed were bills and correspondence until she found what she was looking for. "I thought you might be interested in this."

He took the handwritten letter from her and skimmed it before his face lit up with joy. "So, Aunt Candy made it to France with her little blonde Pomeranian." He laughed. "That's…that's awesome."

Maria enjoyed seeing him so happy. He worked so hard for her she often felt guilty, and this was perhaps the best she could ever do for him aside from one day giving him his freedom. "Yeah. My contact in Canada was able to get Claire to Paris. It sounds like she is doing well."

"That's great, Maria." He sighed with relief. "I haven't slept since she left."

"Well, take the rest of the day off. You deserve it." She nodded. "I mean it, Peter. You run yourself ragged around here looking after everyone else and minding all the details of keeping this estate running that you neglect yourself."

"I know, I just…" He shrugged bashfully.

"Are still trying to save the world?" She asked with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Nathan warned me about that before he left."

Peter gave her a lopsided grin. "Have you heard from him?"

"Not since he left the country to work with Parliament on a resolution to this whole mess." She replied. "He's a good man, Peter, no matter what anyone else says of him. I know he didn't mean for this to happen and I am certain he didn't want you to get caught up in it."

"I know, it just seems to happen." He seemed resigned to his fate. "But I'm sure you didn't want to contribute to it either."

Her eyes grew sad and she sat back in her chair. "Of course we didn't. Bryant was one of you, why would he want to enslave his own kind? When we developed the ability suppressor, he told me it would only be used for good. He said there were people with abilities that were truly dangerous, people who were so powerful that they could watch the entire world burn without consequence and it was initially only meant for them. It seemed reasonable at the time. But we were both horrified to see it used as it has been. I'm sorry, Peter. I truly am."

"What do you mean?" He asked leaning forward in his chair. "You didn't do anything but get me away from Tipton and offer me a good job and respect as a fellow human. I wouldn't say that's been a bad thing."

"But you still don't have your abilities because of me. The drugs I helped develop keep you from accessing a part of your god given nature. I can turn your chip off, but I can't stop the drugs from being released into your body, it was meant as a failsafe mechanism. You had a life of your own as a paramedic in New York and you were taken away from that. You were a good person trying to help others and yet look where you are."

Peter smiled softly. "Where I am is in a position where I can help more than ever before. Thanks to you, Micah, Molly, and now Claire are free. I know you're working on an antidote to the suppressant. You are a good person trying to do the right thing under a lot of pressure. I know Bryant would be proud that you're carrying on his work."

"We agreed early on that we couldn't stand by and let this happen. It wasn't right to treat people that way and now that he's gone, I feel even more strongly about it. Every time I go to one of those damn sales to see all those people being kept like livestock I think about him. I couldn't bear the thought of him being treated that way." She quietly confided. "I guess we just have to count 'Aunt Candy's' news as one little victory in the ongoing fight."

"Absolutely." Peter agreed. "I can't think of a better way to honor his memory."

"Speaking of the good fight, how's Sylar?" She paused and wrinkled her nose. "Why don't we just call him Gabriel? I don't know why, but 'Sylar' sounds so…harsh or…evil."

Peter shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I guess not everyone likes their given name." He prayed she wouldn't push the issue. "And last I checked he was doing better. He is keeping down fluids, so for lunch we're going to try crackers and see how he does. If he eats well enough he can probably have mashed potatoes or cereal for dinner. He seems to have made a friend already."

"Good." She was obviously pleased with his progress. "Is it Mohinder?" He was the only one aside from Hiro that had a lot of leisure time to wander the house striking up conversations with recovering guests.

Peter tried to stifle a laugh. Mohinder was the last person in the house he could imagine Sylar making friends with. "No. Remember that black cat that bit Mohinder?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes. That little devil spooked my horses and has been chasing the birds away from the feeder in the oak tree by the side of the house."

"Yeah, well, that would be his new friend."

"Seriously?" She seemed disappointed. "I don't like animals in the house, especially feral cats. But, if he has somehow bonded with the hellspawn, tell him to keep the window open so it can go outside and ask Mohinder to send up a dish of water and some tuna. If it's going to stay, ask Matt if he can trap it so we can have a vet check it out to see if it's healthy and to fix it. The last thing I want is a cat howling in heat or spraying all over the place." She shook her head in disgust at the very thought of it.

"Matt will love this." He chuckled. "He hates cats."

"Well, he should have thought of that before he volunteered to be the animal wrangler." She smiled as she signed a check for a bill and stuffed it into the envelope.

"That's my job." Peter protested.

"Not today." She hummed as she wrote yet another check. "You are off, remember? Speaking of jobs, what do you think Gabriel would be best at?" She noted Peter's grin and she added, "I'll call him Sylar when I speak to him, but otherwise it's Gabriel. It's such a nice sounding name." Not exactly befitting the owner, Peter thought. "You said you knew him. What did he do for a living?"

_Aside from murder and deceit? _"He…um…he was a watchmaker for awhile." He stammered.

She stopped stuffing envelopes to glance at him in surprise. "A watchmaker?"

"Yeah, he had his own shop fixing watches and…stuff." The truth was, Peter never knew him then but that was the story he heard and he hoped it wasn't just rumor.

"I can't say I've ever met anyone who was a watchmaker." She seemed impressed. "But I don't have enough clocks around to occupy him as a full time job."

"Well, like I said, we can always use more domestic help. As far as I know, he is meticulous." He offered.

"You want to put him on the cleaning crew?"

"I think it will keep him busy and he can start out light until his ribs heal. Dusting, something like that. He can also help me with errands if it gets slow."

"Sounds good." She really didn't care, it was Peter's decision as far as she was concerned. "Give him the rest of the weekend to recover and then move him out to the quarters with the others. Have him start on Monday."

"Ok." He acknowledged standing up. "Anything else?"

"Oh, don't forget to order his bracelet."

"Right. I'll make sure it says Gabriel." He laughed. He adjusted his own on his wrist out of habit. A bracelet with the owner's information on it was the only thing that indicated slave status and Peter wasn't sure how well Sylar would take to wearing such a thing especially with the name he hated emblazoned on it.

Her mood turned somber as she stopped him. "Peter, there was one more thing." He turned expectantly to face her as she opened the top drawer of her desk and laid a syringe on top of the papers.

He stared wide eyed at the needle and licked his lips. "Is…that..?"

"Yes." She smiled slyly. "The first dose of what I hope is my redemption. I thought it was only right that you get the first shot." She paused and calmly stated, "That is, if you still want to. You don't have to because truthfully I haven't tested it and…"

Peter confidently swiped the syringe off her desk and rolled up his sleeve to expose a vein in his elbow. "I know, Maria. I'm aware of the consequences and I still want to help you test it." She watched nervously as he inserted the needle in his vein and slowly injected himself with the contents. After a few tense seconds, he admitted, "I don't feel anything."

She gave an audible sigh. "I was hoping for better, but this was the first formulation. Looks like I will have to go back to the lab and…"

"Wait!" Peter cried excitedly. "I think it's working!" Both looked at his hands in awe and joy when they began to weakly crackle with blue, dancing electricity.

"Wonderful!" She seemed near tears to watch her assistant use one of his abilities. "Mohinder will be pleased. He worked about as hard on this as I did." She shook her head slowly. "We are one step closer to our dream of letting you be who you were born to be. Once I perfect the formulation, all of you can once again have your abilities."

Peter's joy faded somewhat. "I think maybe we should keep this to ourselves until it's ready." It wasn't the others he was worried about- it was what Sylar wouldn't do to get his hands on the serum that worried him.


	6. Fishy

**A/N: Thanks to Mel for the review! I know there are a lot of lurkers out there…don't be shy! I don't bite…(usually)…**

**Chapter 6- Fishy**

Sylar kept the dish of tuna on the nightstand next to him while he flipped through clothing catalogues, circling items he could live with and noting the size, color and quantity he desired so long as he kept to his budget. Apparently Maria allowed her slaves to dress as they pleased and gave each of them an allowance to purchase the items they needed. He had gone through most of the stack but found little that suited his tastes- more precisely he found little that fit his budget. The Old Navy frat boy look wasn't him nor was the beach bum Hollister collection. He was really more of a Hugo Boss or Ralph Lauren Purple Label kind of man, but he had to be practical. He grimly circled a form fitting black long sleeve button up from the Gap and wrote "Tall- M" in the margin for Peter's benefit since he would be the one placing the order.

He let the catalogue drop into his lap despondently. The cat seemed to notice his dour mood and gave a weak cry as if to commiserate. He glanced at the feline with the mangled ear and smirked. "At least you can come and go as you please. You have more rights than I do." He capped the marker he was using and took a small bit of tuna from the dish and offered it cautiously to the cat, remembering that it bit Mohinder for doing the same thing. The cat's nose wiggled as it sniffed the air near his hand and it cried several times- it wanted it, but it didn't want to take it from his hand. "You have to make a choice, kitty." He declared, holding his hand steady so as not to spook it. "Take it or starve." The cat looked down at his hand, twisting its head as though it were trying to solve a puzzle and then it tried to swipe the tuna out of his hand with its paw. Sylar curled his fingers and smiled. "No, kitty. No cheating." He admired the way the cat was trying to have its cake and eat it too by beating the system. Finally, the cat hesitantly took the treat from the human's hand and devoured it, licking its face in satisfaction.

He put the dish on the bed between them and watched the hungry cat attack as though it hadn't eaten in days. Who knew, maybe it hadn't. "If you're going to hang around, you need a name." He proclaimed thoughtfully. He thought about various literary characters in all the books he had read; the name had to have meaning and had to fit the little black cat perfectly. Finally, he settled on one that just seemed to fit from Shakespeare's Othello. "Iago." He decreed with a tight nod. "A fighter, schemer and master manipulator." Iago neither protested nor acquiesced, he was busy washing his face by repeatedly licking his paw. Sylar removed the empty dish and continued, "You know he dies in the end. But you have nine lives, right?" Iago ignored him and he darkly added, "So do I."

0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0

"Konichiwa, Mr. Jessup." Hiro greeted as he opened the door. He tried to smile as best he could, but inside he was scared of the man on the doorstep- almost as much as he feared Sylar.

Arthur Jessup was a tall, strapping man who held his head high and let it be known that he was a man of authority. His grey mustache twitched slightly as he regarded the little Japanese man like a parasite. "You know, we should have killed your kind back in the Great War when we had the chance." His rough, gravelly voice proclaimed. "Bunch of cowering bastards- all of you."

Hiro didn't quite know how to answer. He bowed slightly and humbly replied, "I believe the United States did win, Mr. Jessup. Emperor Hirohito surrendered."

"I know that!" Jessup spat. "Our biggest mistake was giving you the option to surrender. We should've bombed the entire island back under the sea and be done with it." Hiro was again unsure of how to respond. How to endorse genocide to placate a megalomaniac without getting out of line… Thankfully, his saving grace appeared.

"Arthur." Maria's voice sounded sternly behind him. "I don't come to your house to abuse your staff and I ask that you pay me the same courtesy."

Jessup shot one last withering glance at Hiro before smiling congenially. "Of course, Maria. I didn't mean to offend." It was perhaps the most meaningless and empty apology anyone had ever made and she knew it. "I won't stay long, but I am in need of a favor and I was hoping you might be neighborly enough to help me out."

She dismissed Hiro with a nod and leaned against the doorframe, indicating that she would listen, but she was going to make him stand out on the porch while he made his pitch. "And how may I help you, Mr. Jessup?"

He smiled at her less than neighborly hospitality and pressed on with his business. "Two things, actually." He clarified while he smoothed his mustache. "As you know, all my field help has been busy working with the crops and I'm building a new horse shed. I was wondering if you could loan me two of your slaves to help clean out the old one so I can tear it down."

"How long will you need them?" She asked dispassionately.

"Oh, I'd think they could get it done in an afternoon if they work fast enough." The obvious twinkle in his eye made her stomach sink. In all actuality it was probably a huge job and he was going to make them get it done in one afternoon. "Any chance I can get the fellow that takes care of your horses and…what's his name..?" He looked up at the porch ceiling as he tried to remember. "Peter? He looks like a strapping fellow that can handle the work."

She frowned at his charade. "I can send Matt, but Peter will be unavailable." She didn't think it at all odd that he would ask for Peter specifically. Arthur Jessup had a daughter back at his estate that had quite the reputation for taking a keen interest in certain male slaves. She treated them as her personal toys and Arthur for some reason thought it was justifiable. They were just slaves, after all. She was bored with her father's stock, so anytime new ones were on loan it was open season and she had her eye on Peter for quite some time. It might have been funny if it wasn't so pathetic. "However, I will send Ando."

Jessup seemed disappointed. "The Japanese guy?" He asked pointing to indicate where Hiro usually stood.

"The _other_ Japanese guy." She replied clearly irritated. "And what was the second thing you needed?"

"Yes, I came to apologize." He declared placing a hand on his chest. "I recently found out that some of my slaves have been stealing from you." She raised her eyebrows in surprise. Where was he going with this? "It appears that some have been sneaking onto your property and stealing food items. Your slaves have to know about this, but I suspect they have a code amongst themselves and think that theft from owners is ok, so they probably didn't tell you it was going on. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that the instigators have been punished and you might want to lock up your pantry good and tight." He gave a tight lipped smile that clearly said he knew what was really going on. It wasn't an apology, it was a warning.

"Thank you, Mr. Jessup." She coyly smiled. "I will speak with the cook tonight."

"My pleasure, Ms. Siegel." He turned back and asked, "Oh, when can I expect your men?"

"I will send them over shortly." She smiled.

He nodded and replied, "I look forward to it."

She quietly closed the door with a disturbed look on her face. She didn't like choosing one person over another, but she knew very well that if she sent Peter he would come back with that hussy's paw prints all over him.

"Thanks." Peter said grimly from where he stood at the bottom of the stairs. He was well out of sight of Jessup, but within earshot to hear the conversation. She gave him a sad smile and he looked at the floor. While it was not exactly right to play favorites, he knew that there was no way in hell she would subject him to that kind of treatment. She tried to project an image of fairness, but sometimes he knew she protected him a little more than the others. "I'll go get Matt and Ando."

"Don't forget to activate them." She quietly reminded as she went back to her lab. He watched her go and the sadness was apparent to him even without his powers, but it seemed amplified with them and it was something he would have to get used to again. He knew she would worry about them from the moment they left her property until they returned.

As the executive administrator, Maria entrusted him with certain privileges that no other special enjoyed such as access to the chip remote. It was a deceptively complex device that controlled all slaves within range much the way a router picks up wireless signals. He picked it up from her desk in her office and paused to glance around at the book lined walls and the stately fireplace at the end of the room. It reminded him of his father's library growing up, except he strangely felt more welcome there than he did at his old home. He placed his thumb on the bioidentification slot and it chirped when it recognized his fingerprint as an authorized user. That never would have happened without Micah's intervention to bypass the internal security system so it would accept his fingerprint as a free person and not the slave he was. He scrolled through the readout as he walked to the barn.

/Unknown- 00000/active

- System Update-

/Masahashi, Ando- 84736/proximity/fail

/Nakamura, Hiro- 52836/proximity/fail

/Parkman, Matt- 65762/proximity/fail

/Petrelli, Peter- 55738/proximity/fail

/Suresh, Mohinder- 25394/proximity/fail

Activate all?

He furrowed his brow. It was picking up everyone's chip and said 'fail' because they weren't activated. "Unknown" had to have been Sylar's chip, but why wasn't it registered? He highlighted his name and clicked "More Info."

/Unknown- 00000/Status

Sex: Male

Age: 00

Height: 6'1"

Weight: 135

Hair: Black

Eyes: Brown

Ability: Telekinesis

Threat: Low

-Chip Set-

Location: New Orleans, LA

Implanted: 06/02/2011 03:42AM

Status: Active

Test: Y/N

If Peter was honest with himself, he was tempted, however briefly, to press Y to send a test shock to his chip. As he read over the display it occurred to him that the person who programmed it was either lazy or in a hurry- both potentially deadly mistakes if they knew who they were working on. His weight seemed a little low, but who knew when the measurement was taken or if it was even accurate. And to classify him as a low threat level made him laugh. He did wonder how they only managed to find his telekinesis when he knew for a fact he had so much more; they were usually pretty thorough with the testing process. He shuddered when he thought about the testing that was done on him, and he wasn't even awake for all of it. He quickly reprogrammed the information and refreshed the display.

/Gray, Gabriel- 11537/active

There, that was better. Nothing would arouse suspicion like an unregistered chip. Tipton was getting sloppy and it might cost them all. It just confirmed what he suspected: Sylar wasn't chipped in an official clearinghouse- it was a black market back alley operation. He read the display again and smirked about the private joke that only he and Sylar himself would get: his registration number was the time on his broken watch- 11:53, 7 minutes to midnight.

He located Ando and Matt and broke the news to them. Although upset, they knew they had no choice but to go and Peter helped them gather their things and reactivated their chips including his own. He narrowly dodged a bullet last time with Tipton, he would not make the same mistake twice because he knew that Jessup closely monitored every movement on his property. If his chip didn't show up on the monitoring station at the guardhouse, he would have some explaining to do.

He drove Ando and Matt to Jessup's estate and gave them his best 'good luck' smile as they got out of the car like dead men walking. He felt sort of guilty for leaving them behind, but orders were orders. He jumped slightly when something moved suddenly in his peripheral vision. On the other side of the driver's window were a pair of predatory green eyes and the most evil smile he had ever seen. Emily Jessup peered at her object of obsession as though she were a cat watching a fish in a very small bowl. He didn't need to read her mind to know that her intentions were no good.

She traced a finger in a slow circle on the glass where he imagined the outline of his face would be from her perspective. "Hello, there." She called, tapping on the glass to get his attention. He turned his head slightly and swallowed, still avoiding her gaze. "I was hoping you would come over sooner or later. I know you can't stay, but maybe next time." She leaned close enough to the glass to fog it up with her breath even in the intense heat of the day. "I will be sure to make you feel welcome." He quickly gave a nervous smile and thankfully she backed away, eying the fresh meat. "Mmmm…" She hummed looking Ando over. "Exotic. I hear you Asian boys _love_ sushi." Ando looked to the ground, but the uncertain anxiety in his eyes were clear.

Matt coughed uncomfortably and his thoughts were as clear to Peter as if he had spoken it aloud. _It might be raw, but it certainly ain't fresh_.


	7. The Eyes Have It

**A/N: Thanks to queenoftheoutlands for having the courage to step out from the shadows to say hi! See…that wasn't so bad….lol. **

**Chapter 7- The Eyes Have It**

Maria was in a foul mood to be sure. Jessup promised to have Matt and Ando back by nightfall, but that was 2 days ago and he found one excuse after another as to why he needed to retain them just a little while longer and she was losing patience.

Peter did double duty around the estate, tending to the exhaustive list of his own duties plus share those abandoned in the horse barn and garden and he had Sylar to tend to on his first day on the job. It wasn't really discussed, but he didn't see how he would have time to attend to his move from the house to the quarters on top of everything else that had to get done. He would just have to wait.

Sylar stood a little awkwardly in the kitchen and half listened to Mohinder complain about cooking and gardening while he watched Peter dart in and out never seeming to complete the first task before he picked up another. He couldn't imagine the house running this way on a regular basis, so either something had gone wrong or Peter sucked at being a manager. The inefficiency of it all made his brain hurt. He casually leaned against the counter and hitched up his pants for the hundredth time that morning. They weren't really his and that was part of the problem. Peter said he ordered his clothes, but they wouldn't be there until tomorrow so in the meantime he had to borrow a pair of Mohinder's khakis and a black cotton t-shirt of Ando's. He had lost some weight, but even at his healthiest he was slimmer than Mohinder as well as taller. But as it was, the pants hung onto his hips for dear life, making them a little longer by virtue of sagging. Add to this the short length of the shirt and he felt a little overexposed should he ever have to reach above his head. He waited for Peter to breeze through again, this time with some mail in his mouth while he read a letter. "Peter, was there a purpose for me being here today?" He asked arching his eyebrow. "I guess I can be content to just stand here and get paid for it."

"Yomph dm gee pdm." He mumbled.

"What?" Sylar asked irritated. "Peter, get that out of your mouth, you don't know where it's been."

He did as he was asked and kept reading as he walked out. "I said you don't get paid."

"Seriously?" He asked as his eyes darkened. He turned to Mohinder and repeated, "Is he being serious right now?"

"I am afraid he is." Mohinder chuckled as he shook his head. "What part of 'servitude' escapes your attention, Sylar?"

"I know what it is." He hissed insulted. "But I thought your owner was some kind of saint."

"She is your owner as well." He reminded patiently. "You might do well to remember that. And although she doesn't pay us directly, she does provide a great deal in the way of food, clothing, and shelter above and beyond what she must." Sylar bored holes into him with his eyes. If he was willing to accept what most would consider a basic standard of living in exchange for his unpaid labor it was up to him. But he was meant for something greater and he was not about to settle for less.

"Good morning, Gentlemen." Maria greeted as she made her way to the refrigerator to get a glass of milk.

"Good morning." Mohinder cheerily returned. "I apologize for the delay in serving breakfast this morning. It should be ready shortly." He announced, continuing to chop up various fruits.

"It's ok, Mohinder. Things are off to a crazy start today." She said rolling her eyes. "Not a great day for you to start, Gab…" His dark eyes flitted to her and she stopped short. "Sylar." She coolly corrected taking a sip of her milk. Something seemed very…odd about him. His eyes were almost bottomless and absorbing and she couldn't stop staring into them. He only looked away when Mohinder elbowed him in the arm and once he did, she realized how mesmerizing they were. She took a small breath and another sip of milk before looking away and stating, "I heard you passed the mashed potato test last night. Glad to hear you're back to normal…well, mostly. Just do what you can today and take breaks if you need to." She walked out of the kitchen wondering what the hell just happened.

"Ah, that went well." Mohinder observed with no small amount of sarcasm. "Sylar, I know you are new to this whole thing, but allow me to offer this lesson: don't do that again."

"Do what?" He asked incredulously. "I just looked at her. Aren't you supposed to make eye contact with the person addressing you?"

"Not always and there is a difference between making casual eye contact and psychotic leering, which is, I believe, what you were doing." He pointedly accused while he deposited the scraps into a pail to be taken to the garden for fertilizer. "I have seen that look before and don't pretend you haven't a clue what I'm referring to. You know very well that your eyes can have great effect and you use that to your advantage."

Sylar smirked as he shrugged. "So it's my fault I use the gifts I was born with? The eyes are the windows to the soul. I can't help it if people find certain assets attractive."

Mohinder shook his head in disgust. "People aren't drawn to your eyes because of their beauty, Sylar. They stare in wonder because there is no soul behind them. It's just an infinite pool of darkness and that, thankfully, is a rare sight to find in another human being."

"Sylar." Peter called as he transversed the kitchen yet again. "Time to work. Follow me." Sylar gave Mohinder one last contemptuous look before pushing himself away from the counter and reluctantly trailing behind a man who seemed to consider himself his boss, laughable as it was. "You can go back and grab breakfast, but I wanted to get you started first." He explained as he continued on in his frantic pace. With his longer legs, Sylar was able to keep up, but it was a bit of a challenge to walk fast and keep his pants from falling down. Why was he walking so fast in the first place? Were they going to put out a fire? "Normally I would work with you, but I don't have time today." He apologized. "Hiro will be your go-to for the day if you need help. The two of you are going to clean the downstairs areas." Even as he spoke, he began digging supplies out of a closet. "I want you to do the easy stuff: dusting and maybe polish the furniture. No heavy lifting and don't worry about it if you can't reach above your head yet. Hiro can get it."

Sylar was both amused and insulted with his task list. He had a free pass to plead lameness to make Hiro do most of the work, but that would mean he had to admit that he couldn't do it himself. Furthermore, he wondered just how a man much shorter than himself was going to reach areas that he couldn't. Although he hated the idea of being a man-maid, cleanliness was something he had always taken a measure of pride in. He was obsessively meticulous in his personal appearance as well as his environment. His watch shop was always spic and span as was his apartment. There was something about neatness and the act of cleansing that he found relaxing even though it took work. But if done properly, there was a calming sense of near perfection to be enjoyed.

Although he was hungry, he decided to avoid Mohinder for the time being and try to hold out for lunch. All morning he concentrated on wiping every surface free of dust in an effort to distract himself from the odd little Japanese man's gaze. He always seemed to be locked in a perpetual stare that was focused on his chest or back. He sighed and rolled his eyes when he figured out why. He turned to face Hiro and coldly asked, "Are you still curious as to how I survived you running me through with your sword?"

Hiro frowned at being caught, but brain man was onto him. "Yes." He stated emphatically. "You should have died."

Sylar smirked. "Ah, the hubris of the defeated. Your plan to save the world failed and you blame me."

"How?" Hiro pressed. "You did not have Claire's ability to heal."

Sylar turned back to the shelf of photographs he was working on and lightly replied, "No, I didn't."

"But I was supposed to kill you." He protested.

"You had more than one opportunity." He taunted, wiping off the frame of a picture of Maria and a man that he knew for a fact was her dead husband. He paused as he studied it and the memory of his murder replayed in his mind. In a quieter voice he added, "Perhaps you should have."

"I should." Hiro proclaimed like a petulant five year old. Sylar said nothing, but he looked up at the man from under his dark eyebrows and it sent chills up his spine. His eyes were half daring him to try and half pleading for him to succeed.

"You should what?" Maria asked with a smile as she descended the stairs.

Hiro was obviously caught off guard and he stammered, "I should…I should go start on another room while Sylar finishes here." He hurried out of the room, still angry at Sylar for not giving him any answers, but why should he expect anything less?

Maria noted the picture still in Sylar's hand and she smiled fondly as she took it from him to look at it. "This is Bryant and I last year at his cousin's wedding." Her happiness seemed bittersweet and Sylar's eye twitched slightly, but he was careful to only give her a sidelong glance so he wouldn't be accused of leering again.

"Oh." He feigned interest. "You look like you were having a good time."

"We did." She sighed before handing the photo back to him. "He was killed a few months after that while he was away on business."

Sylar's heart began to beat a little faster and he stole another glance at her. Although he knew better than she, he just couldn't help hearing the words from her mouth. "That's terrible," he pretended to feel sorry for her, "what happened? Was it an accident?"

"No." She replied quietly. "He was murdered. Someone stabbed him through the heart and tried to remove his brain." She shook her head in disbelief. "What kind of a sick person does that?" It was a good thing she was looking down or else she would have seen the momentary flash of anger in his dark eyes. "Killing him was one thing, but mutilating his body after he's dead is just sadistic."

_He wasn't dead. They never are…_ "That sounds horrible." He said slowly as he regained his composure by wiping the picture one last time before gently placing it back on the shelf.

"Well, I can't change what happened, so I guess I just have to go on without him. That's how it works, I'm told." Her smile seemed desperate but the only thing that he regretted was not actually getting his ability. It seemed like a lot of wasted effort to him now. All risk and no reward.

"Sylar." Peter's low voice warned from the stairs. The fire in his eyes let him know that he'd been caught indulging his ego and he was pretty certain his nemesis was upset about it. He might have actually attacked him if Maria wasn't standing there and that thought worried him just a bit. For all his boy-next-door, rescuing kittens from trees sweetness, he could on occasion brawl like a drunken Irishman on St. Patrick 's Day and all too often he found himself on the losing end of that proposition. Simply put, Petrelli talked softly and carried a big stick and Sylar knew it.

"Peter, you've been running around all morning." She noted, mistaking his irritation with being overworked. "Why don't you and Sylar take an early lunch for once." Sylar gave a small smile and Peter regarded him warily as they both departed. It was odd, she thought. If they were once friends, they had a strange way of showing it. She went to her lab in the basement- an area off limits to all but herself, Mohinder, and Peter to continue her work on the serum. Peter hadn't reported any negative side effects which was encouraging, but she didn't know if that meant the formulation was safe or that it simply worked well enough to let his natural healing ability emerge and mask any adverse reactions. She still had a lot of work to do before it was ready for the others, that much was clear.

Hiro came scurrying when he heard the doorbell, removing a pair of yellow rubber gloves he was using while he cleaned a bathroom. "Konichiwa." He greeted as he opened the door and was met with cold, green eyes.

"Your slaves are back." Emily said blandly.

"Thank you." He bowed slightly. "I will tell Ms. Siegel right away." He started to close the door and she stopped it. "I have something else." She fished in her pocket to pull out a check from her father. "Compensation for keeping them longer than agreed." She explained, waving the bit of paper in front of his face.

"I will give to Ms. Siegel." He bowed again before reaching for the check.

She pulled it out of his reach with a malicious smile. "I was instructed to only give this to Peter. He does the bills around here, right?"

"Peter?" He seemed unsure of himself. Truthfully he was debating if he should lie and say he wasn't there. It wasn't honorable, but it seemed better than letting a vampire bat in the house.

"Yes." She insisted as she shoved her way past him into the foyer. "Now where is he?" Hiro quietly shut the door and led her to the kitchen in a resigned manner that clearly stated he didn't want to. He couldn't believe that he helped save the world for people like her.

She turned the corner to see her target talking with another man in the kitchen. They seemed to be having a heated debate judging by the intense expressions they wore. The other man, the one she had never seen before, leaned against the counter casually, his pants hovering at the crest of the curve of his hipbone, and she froze. His snug shirt hinted at the lithe frame beneath and there was something about him that absolutely exuded confidence. He was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome and his body moved gracefully and with absolute purpose. His full lips held just a hint of a smile and his eyes…she'd never quite seen anything so deep and mysterious. He lifted a peach to those lips and opened wide to take a bite with his perfectly white teeth and they sank deep into the flesh with such ease she found it quite erotic. His eyes flicked to her and her heart skipped a beat. Suddenly, she didn't care about Peter anymore.

"Ms. Jessup." Peter greeted formally, perhaps a bit flustered he had been caught off guard in his own house.

"Peter." She returned, her eyes still drinking in the sight before her. For his part, the man remained as he was, thoughtfully chewing his conquest while he watched her.

After an awkward moment of silence, Peter ventured, "Can I help you with something?" He glanced back and forth several times between her and Sylar and he didn't like the vibe he was getting.

She tossed the check on the island that stood between them and smiled lasciviously. "A new hire?"

Peter sighed. "Yes. This is Gabriel." He wearily announced. "Gabriel, this is Ms. Emily Jessup, our neighbor."

Sylar only acknowledged her with the smallest of smiles and another bite of his peach. She turned to go, but admired him for his flippant behavior. He might have been new and didn't know that he was supposed to look away, but something told her he did and chose to ignore convention. She smiled to herself. It spoke to his independent nature and oh how she would like to break a wild horse given half a chance.


	8. I've Got the Power

**Chapter 8- I've Got The Power**

"Well?" Maria asked anxiously as she turned away from her microscope.

Peter grinned and chuckled. He hated seeing her on pins and needles like she had been and he also knew that her recent interest in the serum was only a distraction, but it was endearing all the same. "They're fine." He reported. "A little sunburned and pissed off, but otherwise fine."

She let out a relieved sigh and shook her head. "You can't imagine what was going through my head."

He bit his lip and sheepishly admitted, "Oh, I think I can."

She found her error hysterical. "I forgot." She granted. "You can!" She gestured for him to take the seat next to her and as they were far away from prying eyes, he did so without trepidation. "Am I going to have to be more careful about what I think around you now?" She playfully teased.

He flashed a boyish grin and shook his head. "I haven't been reading your mind, Maria. That's a little intrusive and I usually don't do that to people. But I can sense your mood without really trying and you have been pretty tightly wound the last few days."

"So have you!" She challenged. "I know you're superhuman and all, but surely even you have limits."

"I guess." He admitted reluctantly. She looked at his face in the harsh halogen lights of the lab and it seemed to her that he looked just a bit younger than he did the week prior and she wondered if it was his regeneration ability. How long could it sustain him? 100 years? 1,000? The notion of loss was fresh in her mind and she wondered how he could possibly deal with the inevitable death of everyone he cared about as they all grew old while he remained forever young. He had a kind heart and she wondered if after enduring so many lifetimes of grief the heartache would eventually kill his gentle spirit. She didn't know how it couldn't, but the world would lose a beautiful soul in the process and it desperately needed people like Peter.

He shifted slightly in his chair and lowered his voice. "And now you're sad." She instinctively looked away and he gave her a moment to compose herself. It couldn't have been easy for her to walk the line between keeping up appearances to fool everyone around her while still trying her best to do right by the people saw as oppressed all while mourning the man she loved. Yes, he had perhaps more responsibility than his job title covered, but as he saw it the more he did the less she had to deal with and it only seemed fair. He licked his lips when he noted the sadness only got deeper and more despondent. It was almost crushing. "You know, Maria, if you want to talk about it, I'll listen." He offered, lightly placing his hand on her arm in an effort to comfort her in some small way.

"I know you will." She almost whispered into her hands that covered her face so he wouldn't see her cry. "You always do."

"And I always will." He promised earnestly. "Tell me what's wrong. Is it Sylar? Did he upset you earlier today?" Only sadness that overwhelming could stem from raw grief and anguish and he certainly did his share to open fresh wounds by making her tell him about the man he murdered to pacify his sick ego.

"Not really." She answered letting her hands fall to her lap. "He was just curious. He didn't know about Bryant."

Peter's eyes narrowed in anger. _Yes he did! He knew EXACTLY what he was doing and I should have kicked his ass right then and there…I still might…_

"But it was that and Jessup keeping Matt and Ando and I feared the worst." She shook her head and laughed desperately. "I actually thought he was stalling for time because he had killed them and buried their bodies on his property or something. But no matter what I do, I can't protect any of you enough to keep things like that from happening and it's frustrating."

He patted her arm in consolation. "We all know you want to protect us, Maria, and believe me when I say that we get it. When things like this happen, we don't blame you. And as sick as it sounds, it almost has to happen or people will catch on. We have to show some wear and tear now and again to make it believable."

"Except you." Her eyes were a mix of sadness and awe and it made him a little uncomfortable. "Now that you can heal again, you don't have to worry about being in mortal danger."

"No, but that poses a whole new set of problems. What if just once something happens and there are witnesses? A car accident, a broken bone, being burned, any number of things and I heal right before their eyes?" He questioned with a worried look. "Just once and it's all over for you because people will know that you've been tampering with the chips." Her eyes faltered and he knew she never considered giving him his powers back to be a liability. "I know you want to do what's right," he continued with a brave smile, "but for now the right thing might be to let the chip work until you can perfect the formula enough for it to be discreet."

She looked at him and he could tell she was crushed. "You want me to take away your powers again?"

He nodded and gently rubbed her back in a friendly manner. "For now I think it's best. It will keep us all safe."

They sat in silence until she got up the courage to ask, "Peter, what's it like to have powers and be…special?"

He seemed startled at her question and he leaned his elbows on the table while he thought of how he should answer. "I guess it's like what you do. You know how chemicals are bonded and shaped at a molecular level. You know how to combine them so they all fit together in proportion to make a new drug. It's up to you if you use this knowledge to make drugs to cure cancer or execute criminals. I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's not what you can do, but how you chose to use the skills you have that makes a difference. Sure I can become invisible, but am I going to use that to rob a bank or assist in a hostage situation?"

She smiled at him in wonder. "I didn't know you could become invisible! You didn't tell me you could do that!" He smiled at her and vanished like a Cheshire cat, leaving her to giggle and look around the room. "Where did you go?" She asked perplexed.

He reappeared in his seat as though he never moved. "Right here." He laughed. "I didn't go anywhere."

"Just when you think you know someone." She mused. "You _have_ been holding out on me!" It was a little creepy to know that at any moment he could be in a room watching her like a ghost without her knowledge, but she was reasonably sure he wasn't a voyeur or a snoop- he didn't have to be. He pretty much had access to all of her personal information and in the time he had been doing his job she had yet to find even 1 unauthorized charge on a bill. He was faithful in his duties to the letter and she trusted him completely.

"Not intentionally." He clarified. "It's just been so long since I've had them I forgot what all I could do." He gave a small sigh and smiled faintly. "You know, it's not even that important to me- the powers." She was clearly surprised. "Having them or not having them, what matters to me is what I do with my life. If I have them and I can use them for good, that's great and not having them would make the job harder, but I wouldn't quit trying."

"I believe it." She nodded. "Which one's your favorite?"

"My favorite power?" He asked frowning slightly as he pondered it. "Flight." He answered after a moment and she noticed just a hint of sadness in his eyes.

"Nathan?" She guessed. She knew how close the brothers were and it would make sense that his ability to fly would make him feel as they were still somehow connected. Nathan was a hero to the American people for his work in bringing the existence of specials to light although it was never his intention and he fought hard behind the scenes to keep it from happening. She and Bryant came to know him by traveling in the same well heeled, affluent circles and she even donated a nice sum to his reelection campaign. When Peter was captured, Nathan was despondent because his own ability was still a secret and he had no choice but to distance himself from his brother to appear as though he was still the committed politician he was. It broke his heart, but he did the best he could: he reached out to her through mutual friends and asked her if she would take Peter in because he knew that she was sympathetic to the cause. It was Nathan who connected her to the man she would later come to trust almost as much as Peter and it was he that actually tracked him down in a warehouse facility in Nebraska, freezing and starving, to bring him to her under the guise of a trade via the unwitting Tipton. If anything, Peter was in worse shape than Sylar was and she had to pay an exhorbant price for him on top of it, making her Tipton's favorite customer. She never told him the whole story of how he came to be at her estate, she only hinted that it was Nathan that set it in motion because she felt it was important that he know his brother still cared about him despite his lack of contact or obvious support.

She fished in a cabinet to remove a vial of liquid and a syringe and filled the needle with what she approximated to be the correct dose- it was hard to tell with regens since their bodies fought valiantly against any invading substances. She put the vial back on the shelf and hoped she would never have to touch it again and approached her loyal assistant. "Are you sure this is what you want?" She asked cautiously. "I'm willing to take the risk if you want to keep what's rightfully yours."

His eyes were determined and he took the needle from her. "I'm not willing to." He chose to inject himself with the suppressant in an effort to spare her the guilt that she would probably feel anyway. Sometimes his nursing skills came in handy in very surprising ways- including giving himself shots of substances that would strip him of everything that made him special. Although it could take away his abilities, it would never change who he truly was.

She looked away while he emptied the concoction in his vein and uncomfortably stammered, "I will be having a guest over for dinner tonight, so we will have to have full service."

He only glanced up momentarily to ask, "Do you want Sylar to help? He has to learn sooner or later."

"He worked pretty hard today." She shrugged. "If he feels up to it he can, but he doesn't have to. There will be plenty more opportunities."

He gritted his teeth that after what Sylar had done he should still benefit from her good will, but he would see to it that karma paid him back. "I'll talk to him. I plan on moving him out first thing tomorrow."

He took leave and headed for Sylar's room, first making a stop in the library to get the remote control. He paused in the dining room below Sylar's room and pointed the remote at the ceiling to quickly push the shock button. There was a dense thud and he smirked at the thought of Sylar hitting the floor in a stunned heap. He tapped the button a few more times on the way up the stairs and wiped the smile off his face as he knocked on his door.

Sylar was slow to answer because it took a moment for him to regain the use of his muscles and he had to get up from the floor, which for him was a longer distance than most. He rubbed the back of his neck to soothe the stinging while Iago curiously watched the oddly behaving human primate. He opened the door to see Peter with a dead expression on his face. "Peter, I think my chip is malfunctioning." He winced, continuing to massage the nape of his neck.

Peter pushed his way past the confused looking man and blandly asked, "Why do you say that?"

"I just got out of the shower and it shocked me, three times." He squinted his dark eyes in thought. "It's a wetwire implant, it can't short circuit."

"It didn't." He said menacingly holding up the remote so Sylar could get a clear view of it. The look of shock and betrayal was so apparent in those predatory eyes and a small part of Peter enjoyed it. Sylar just couldn't believe that he would have the temerity to do such a thing and he instinctively backed away from him until the dresser stopped his progression. "I warned you, Sylar. No more games. I gave you a fair chance and I told you that I wouldn't let you screw this up." He stopped only when their chests were nearly touching and he reached up and grabbed him by the jaw to calmly put him on notice. "You had no right to do that to Maria. If you ever do anything like that again, there _will_ be consequences." He jingled the remote in his other hand and Sylar's fearful eyes flicked to it. He slowly backed away, holding the taller man's gaze and he coldly added, "Now get dressed, you're going back to work."

Sylar's eyes glazed over with absolute contempt, but Peter didn't care as he stormed out and slammed the door behind him.


	9. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

**Chapter 9- Guess Who's Coming to Dinner**

Sylar borrowed yet another pair of Mohinder's pants and a dress shirt from Peter. The sleeves had to be rolled up to mask the fact that they were at least 3 inches short of his wrists and a belt was found to keep his pants up. It was, after all, a semi-formal affair. He knew for a fact there were no official labor laws to be minded, but he already worked all day and now he had to do another shift, apparently as a waiter if Peter was to be believed. Given his prior visit to his room, he didn't think Peter was in a joking mood and his pointedly irritated glances were proof.

"This is serious, Sylar, so pay attention." Peter demanded. "I don't know who her guest is, but we have to play it perfectly. One slip up and you'll give us all away. Under no circumstances are you to look anyone in the eye, even if they speak to you. Keep your head down and give the shortest answer possible followed by Ma'am or Sir. Only approach the table if you are summoned and pretend like you're not following the conversation no matter what they talk about. Don't hand anything directly to the person you're waiting on- put it down on the table. Are you remembering this?"

There did seem to be a lot of rules involved for what should have amounted to him dropping a plate of food in front of someone, but he gave a low, "Yes."

"Good. Just to make things simple, you wait on Maria and I'll take care of the guest. Follow my lead and try not to say anything if you can help it."

Mohinder chuckled as he rubbed seasoning into the lamb chops he was preparing. "This should certainly be entertaining. I dare them to send something back."

"Konichiwa." They heard Hiro call. "Welcome to the Siegel residence. Follow me, dinner will be shortly."

"Ready?" Peter asked, grabbing a saucer with a cup of hot coffee.

Sylar picked up his cup and his mouth formed a hard, straight line of obvious displeasure. This was humiliating. He once had the godlike power of a nuclear bomb- he had the lives of millions at his disposal and now he was reduced to serving coffee to some effete asshole who couldn't care less. He followed Peter into the living room where the dinner party would wait until moving to the dining room when the food was ready. He passed behind an overstuffed chair where Maria's guest sat. He could tell it was a man based on the haircut and the shoes that he could see unobscured by the chair, but when the guest repositioned himself, his profile came into view and Sylar froze. It was the reflection off the black, horned rimmed glasses that caught his attention and his blood ran cold. Peter too seemed caught off guard, but he recovered quickly while Sylar remained stuck to the floor.

"Gabriel." Maria called to break his attention. "Come meet the regional overseer of the government chip program, Mr. Noah Bennet."

Sylar's hand trembled slightly and it threatened to spill the coffee when Noah turned and gave him that easy smile that masked what lie beneath. Peter cleared his throat to remind him of his job and although it took a great amount of effort, he adverted his eyes, kept his head down, and delivered the coffee- being sure to set it down on the table next to Maria rather than hand it to her.

"Well." Noah smiled clearly enjoying the coincidence.

"Do you two know each other?" Maria inquired somewhat surprised.

"You could say that." Noah nodded while he removed his glasses to wipe them clean before putting them back on. "_Gabriel_ and I have something of a history, don't we?"

He kept his head down and bit his lip even though he could feel his cheeks burning with anger. "Yes, _Sir_."

Maria looked from one to the other until Noah explained. "We've been watching him for quite some time, but I have to say you got yourself quite a specimen. I hope you didn't pay too much?"

"Less than what he's worth, I'm sure. Tipton had pity on me." She answered blowing on her coffee to cool it.

"He has something for you, but I don't think it's pity." Noah chuckled. She grinned deviously over her steaming cup and Peter signaled to Sylar that it was time for them to go.

As soon as they reached the safety of the kitchen, Sylar let out a low, rumbling growl to give voice to his extreme displeasure. "Bennet?" He hissed.

"Guess so." Peter shrugged. "But it means the pressure's off and we don't have to be so uptight. He's safe."

"He works for the government." Sylar reminded. "In the chip program, which I can only assume is an extension of Pinehurst or Primatech or whatever name the Company goes by these days."

"It's not my job to question." He sighed, waiting for Mohinder to complete the dish he was creating so he could serve it.

Sylar gave an indignant huff. "A lamb who willingly wears blinders."

"Yup." Peter agreed, still staring at the counter. He was done with Sylar for the day. He was tired, aggravated, and he just wanted the day to end.

Out in the dining room and away from the servants, Noah and Maria enjoyed their succulent lamb over a glass of wine. "Outstanding." Noah sighed, sitting back in his chair after vanquishing his meal.

"I am very lucky Mohinder can cook." Maria agreed. "I certainly can't. Thankfully, he actually seems to enjoy it."

"It's nice of you to let them chose what work they do."

"As much as I can." She demurred. "Of course there are dirty jobs that nobody wants, but they have to be done anyway." As far as he was concerned, she was preaching to the choir. "So to what do I owe the pleasure of your company tonight?"

He smiled and placed his napkin on his empty plate. "It should be me taking you out to dinner. Perhaps some nice French cuisine?" She nodded knowingly. "Maria, I can't thank you enough for helping with the project. You have no idea how much it means to me."

She took a sip of her wine. "I think I do. I know it was important to a lot of people. Am I still clear?"

"Yeah." He replied in a lower tone. He was reasonably sure her house wasn't bugged, but it was just in his nature to be cautious. "I've been monitoring the wires and so far your name hasn't come up. I think you're still under the radar. And as long as you are, you are still a valuable asset to the cause. The minute anyone suspects you, I'll let you know."

"So did Nathan get a chance to see her?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "I know she went through London and he was the one that arranged passage from there to Paris, but you know how careful he has to be. He can't associate himself with the dirty laundry or his career will be over the minute he steps foot back in this country. He's taking a big risk in secretly dealing with Parliament as it is. If he's discovered, he will be exiled and never return or worse."

"Do you really think the government would assassinate a popular Senator?" She asked.

Noah tried to be polite, but it was probably the stupidest question he'd ever heard. "_Accidents_ happen all the time." He smiled tensely. "No one will shoot him in the head and leave his body in a dark alley, that's too obvious. But there are a million ways to cause a death without even leaving a mark." The confidence in his tone gave her chills and she thought it best not to ask for examples. "But if they were really smart, the politically savvy thing to do would be to stage it as though a special used a power to kill him. It would galvanize support here and put the foreign dissenters on the hook for not protecting their allies or by extension their own people." She had to admit, his acumen was quite impressive and he might have had the right stuff to be president were it not for the piles of skeletons in his closet.

Thankfully for Peter, Noah didn't stay long. Whatever business he had with Maria was short and to the point, as was his usual style, and he walked him to the car. "You look like you had a long day." Noah observed. Peter just shook his head miserably and looked like he would fall asleep on his feet any minute. Noah looked to the house and lowered his voice. "I won't even ask how Sylar came to be here, but what worries me is Maria seems to be in the dark about him."

"She is." He admitted. "I saw him at a sale and she bought him."

He removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Tell me the dog has a leash."

"Yeah. She hasn't deactivated his chip yet. He's only been here a few days."

"See that she doesn't. You know as well as I do that he has a history of biting." He opened the car door and mused, "You said he's chipped, but I haven't seen his name in the database. And believe me, if he was we would know it because he's flagged at the highest level. If there was a hit on his name, alarms would go off and evacuation orders would be issued."

"I don't think it was an official job." Peter smirked imagining the chaos Noah described. "His chip was unregistered, but I caught it and was able to at least put a name and number in."

Noah raised his eyebrows. "That was definitely not my men, but we're seeing more and more of those. It's a pretty lucrative business. An unregistered slave is a very valuable one since they can't be traced." He started the car and added, "You know that's not official, it will only fool short range detectors."

"I know." He acknowledged. "But it's enough to keep people around here from asking questions."

After he closed the door, Noah rolled down the window and grimly asked, "You know he's going to run, right? Maybe not now, but he'll bide his time until he thinks he can escape. I'd be very careful about how much he knows. He may not have his IA, but he's still very intelligent and that makes him dangerous."

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Sylar rinsed the remaining toothpaste from his mouth and spit the pink tinged liquid into the sink. It looked vaguely like blood and he glanced into the mirror. If before today he ever had any inclination to run, it had only grown stronger. He had to figure out a way to get his powers back, but more pressingly, he had to get out of the system that kept him captive. Perhaps he could get to Canada or Europe and have his chip removed for humanitarian reasons. He didn't have a full grasp on how the chips were constructed or how they were attached, but he did know that it took specialized equipment to remove them without causing permanent neurological damage. Fools who tried to remove them themselves usually ended up dead. The chips were mostly tamper proof, but all he needed was more information and he would figure out a way to circumvent the system, he always did. But for now, he had to find a way to escape and he had a good idea of where to start.


	10. Atonement

**Chapter 10- Atonement**

The next morning, Gabriel looked like a lost puppy as he watched Peter carry his meager belongings from his room and he pondered why he was being moved. Didn't he already get his revenge by shocking him and making him serve Noah Bennet, perhaps the only person he hated more than Mohinder? Maria walked over to him and ran her hand down his arm in an effort to reassure him. He turned his baleful eyes to her and quietly asked, "What did I do? Whatever it was, I'm sorry. Please don't send me back to Tipton. I can try harder, I promise."

Her heart broke at the implication. She could never send him back to suffer at the hands of that monster, especially not after what Peter told her in the barn. "You didn't do anything, Ga…Sylar." She smiled sadly. "This is just the way it has to be and I hope you understand."

He nodded slowly and lowered his eyes. "You can call me Gabriel. It's your right to call me anything you want, really."

"What do you prefer?" She asked with a small smile. "I can't change the fact that you are forced into this situation, but I can try to make it as easy as possible by giving you choices when I can, starting with how you would like to be addressed."

"Gabriel is fine." He shrugged. "It was the name I was born with."

"Gabriel it is, then. Once you get acclimated, I will deactivate your chip." She faltered when she noticed the clear flash of pain in his eyes and the way he lowered his head as though she had personally wounded him deeply. It reminded her of a small boy being teased on the playground. She lightly grasped his elbow and asked, "Didn't Peter tell you? While you're here, I turn your chip off. It wasn't meant to be a taunt or an insult. Chips send out a low level of current when they're active even if they aren't being used." She gently reached for his hand and positioned it palm down to hover over her own and together they watched it tremble. She frowned as she quietly observed, "Yours seems particularly high for some reason. You must feel terrible. Have you had any headaches, dizziness, nausea?"

He swallowed and sheepishly answered, "I usually feel light headed, and it feels like I'm being stabbed all over like pins and needles."

"Oh, Gabriel." She patted his hand sympathetically. He did seem to be suffering and she couldn't stand it, not when she could do something about it. "I have noticed you aren't eating as much as you should. Maybe I put you to work too soon."

"I can work." He nodded bravely, gently placing a hand over his bruised ribs. "I want to. I want to prove myself and do what it takes to earn the privileges." He paused and cautiously asked, "But if you deactivate my chip, won't that stop the suppressant?"

"No." She sighed. "The drugs are a backup in the unlikely event of a chip failure. I can turn it off to make you more comfortable, but you still won't have your ability."

_Abilities- plural_. "I see." He seemed disappointed and she understood. It was like taking an average person and blindfolding them to rob them of their sight because you didn't like their eye color.

"I do have to tell you, though, that any time you leave the property I have to reactivate it and it does hurt." She warned. "But the consequences for having a non-functional chip are very severe."

He remembered seeing Peter do a faceplant at the tent and if it felt anything like being shocked did, the thought of going through it multiple times seemed daunting. At the time he thought Tipton was right about it malfunctioning which was what he based his own experience on until Peter fessed up that he was shocked on purpose for his indiscretion. He glanced at the stairway to keep an eye out for his return least he get caught again. That was one mistake he was determined not to make again.

"You'll have your own room in the quarters with the others. The kitchen is shared, but Mohinder usually does the cooking so let him know if you have any allergies or preferences. Work is generally between 9 and 6, but as you saw last night sometimes that can vary. The afternoons and weekends are yours to do whatever you like- hobbies or side projects. Peter tells me you were a watchmaker?"

He nodded earnestly. "I used to be." In reality it was so far removed from his everyday experience it almost seemed like he was talking about someone else entirely. Those long days crouched over the desk using tweezers and magnifying glasses to reassemble timepieces felt like a different lifetime.

"Was it something you enjoyed or was it more of a job?" She asked intrigued.

"Both, I guess." He shrugged. "It made money and it satisfied a need to understand. I guess I just like complex projects."

She broke out into a wide smile. "So what you're telling me is that dusting will only hold your attention for so long."

He gave a small grin and stated, "Well, I'll do what you tell me to. As I said, I would like the chance to prove myself." He jumped slightly when he noted Peter's return up the stairs and he looked annoyed. Peter may have been a lot of things, but he wasn't one to hold a grudge.

"Ms. Siegel," he said in a low tone, indicating they should all be on their best behavior, "Ms. Jessup is here to see you."

"Why?" Maria mouthed. Peter shrugged and rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Peter." She said in a louder voice so her visitor could hear. "Please take Gabriel and begin your day."

"Yes, Ma'am." Peter nodded as he gestured for Sylar to follow. The two walked past Hiro who was always uneasy anytime a member of the Jessup family darkened his doorstep and filed out the door past Emily. She let Peter out easily with only a passing glance, but shifted ever so slightly to block Sylar's path. He took a step back and the expression on his face made it clear he thought she was being childish. Peter tilted his head slightly to give him a warning glare- he knew very well how Sylar felt and he couldn't disagree in principle, but now was not the time to play chicken. Sylar lowered his eyes and turned sideways to squeeze out the tiny crack she left between herself and the doorframe, trying but failing to avoid brushing up against her as he passed. Being taller, it was difficult to look down as he was supposed to without still looking her in the eye. She made it a point to lean in just a bit to sniff him like a dog would to pick up his scent and she liked his particular brand of masculinity- it was subtle yet incredibly pleasant.

"Emily?" Maria asked with her arms folded. "Did he not shower today?"

The young woman snapped back to attention and let her prey go with a congenial smile. "Hi, Ms. Siegel. I was just…" Maria raised her eyebrow and frowned. "Anyway," she continued rocking back and forth on her heels under her withering gaze, "my dad sent me over here…"

"Let me guess, you need to borrow more help." She said flatly.

"Big gardening project." She smiled. "Any chance…"

"I will send who I have available and it will only be for the day. At 6:00pm they will be returned if I have to come pick them up myself." She slowly announced. "If that arrangement doesn't work for you father he will have to ask someone else."

"That should work." She nodded eagerly. "Thanks, Ms. Siegel."

Maria smiled and waited for the little parasite to leave the property before she headed to the quarters to speak with Peter. If he needed so much help, why didn't he buy more slaves instead of using hers?

"So this is your room."Peter announced, showing Sylar to the last bedroom in the hall off the main dining area. The room itself was furnished with a cherry wood dresser, desk, chest of drawers, and sleigh bed. There were ample shelves for books and a large walk-in closet. The bathroom was a little small, but neat and clean. Overall the room had good sun exposure and the windows looked out over the garden and into the woods beyond. His belongings were placed in a neat pile on the bed for him to sort through and he was very relieved to know that all of the rooms were air conditioned. "You do your own laundry down the hall. If you need something dry cleaned, give it to me. The office is just off the kitchen- there's a computer and TV in there for everybody to use. Make a list of the toiletries you use and I'll add them to the grocery list. Any questions?"

Sylar looked around the room numbly and shook his head no. He never went to college, but he imagined dorm rooms to be much the same- or retirement homes. The structure itself had a very earthy log cabin feel with exposed beams and hardwood floors. Although he didn't like the idea of living so closely with others, it was better than the overpasses and sleazy motel rooms he had occupied while he was running. But perhaps the most important thing of all was not having to share a bathroom with anyone.

"We get up at 8:00 and eat here unless we are allowed to eat in the kitchen at the main house. You aren't allowed to be over there unless you're working, Maria's not you pal, she's your owner and although she bends the rules quite a bit for us, we have to follow them."

"Laying down the law?" Maria's voice playfully chided from the doorway.

"Trying to get him oriented." He corrected.

"He'll pick it up." She smiled as she leaned against the doorframe. "Something tells me he's a smart man." Sylar beamed at the compliment, but Peter frowned. The last time he saw him smile like that was when he was pounding the stuffing out of him at Kirby Plaza. It was creepy because the harder he hit him, the more blood ran into his mouth, staining his teeth red and yet he found it hilarious. He wondered if he did that to Tipton… "Anyway," her smile faded as she turned to Peter, "guess who needs a favor?"

Peter hung his head as he sighed. "I can't send Matt or Ando. Not again."

Sylar locked his fingers in front of his chest as though he were anxious. "You need me to do something?"

Peter gave him an odd look and slowly said, "You have no idea what you're volunteering for."

"What is it?" He implored. "I'll try."

"Gardening." Maria said clearly amused with his eagerness especially given what happened at the doorway.

He gave a slight shrug. "Dig a hole, put the plant in and bury it. How hard can it be?"

"It's not that." Peter squinted. "It's the fact that you have to leave here and go work at the Jessup's. Things at his farm aren't like they are here. You didn't seem to like Emily earlier, but she sure liked you."

He let his eyes fall to the floor with a shy smile. "Peter, she isn't the first woman to make eyes at me." Maria broke out into a smile and chuckled at his modesty. "It's probably just a passing fancy. I can handle it."

"Are you sure?" He challenged. "You know that once you get over there, she can do anything she wants and you can't do a thing about it. ANYTHING." He stressed.

That seemed to give him pause, but he blinked slowly while he nodded. "I have to carry my weight sooner or later and who else would go? Hiro's probably not any good at gardening and Mohinder is likewise busy. You probably have a long list as well. I'm the only one that's free. It's what, 8 hours? I will be fine."

Peter looked at Maria for her opinion and she looked skeptical. "I don't like it either given the way she almost ate you alive at the door. But," she let out a mighty resigned sigh, "I suppose you have to get your feet wet. I just hope you'll be ok over there. Put sunscreen on so we don't make the same mistake Matt and Ando did. No matter what, you _will_ be coming home promptly at 6:00."

"Yes, Ma'am." He grinned.


	11. Tiger Tiger

**A/N: Thanks to flyingporridge for the favorite and of course my faithful reviewers! Mel- I completely agree with your views on Sylar. Maybe someday he will learn…(but not in this story)…lol.**

**Chapter 11- Tiger Tiger**

At Maria's insistence, Sylar ate a light breakfast and she plied him with enough water for an elephant on top of having Peter make a lunch for him since she didn't know what or if he may be fed while he was out on loan. It was like having parents again and he wanted to ask Peter if he cut the crust off his PB&J sandwich. She also slipped a tube of sunscreen in his lunch bag since it was well over 90 degrees and he would likely sweat the first layer off in the heat while he worked outside. As she watched Peter drive him to his destination, she had an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She wasn't sure he was ready for such strenuous work, but she knew she couldn't protect him forever.

Peter checked in at the gate as he always did while Sylar ducked his head to get a better view of the property and he began to question his decision. Maria's house was neat and well kept, the grounds were manicured and the interior was modern yet inviting. What he saw looked like it had been transported from the backwater swamps of the Louisiana bayou. Moss seemed to overtake everything and the dark wooden house looked as though it was well on its way to decaying. Overall he was left with a feeling of being dirty and unwelcome. Peter pulled the car to a stop in front of the main structure and offered a weak, "Good luck." Sylar didn't know if it was because he didn't mean it or because he knew it wouldn't matter. "I'll be back at 5:59." He promised. He too seemed unsettled about being there. He slowly got out of the car and watched Peter return to his fortress of solitude and a small part of him wished he was as well. No matter, he had a purpose for being there.

"Bout damn time." Came a rough voice behind him. He turned to see a person he assumed was either the owner or a pit boss. "Don't just stand there. Get out back and get to work!" Arthur barked. Sylar turned to go, but halted in his tracks when he was commanded to stop. Arthur stepped down off the porch and slowly circled him, looking him over as though he were an alien. "I haven't seen you before. You new?"

"Yes, Sir." Sylar ground out. The words were bitter as brine because he had absolutely no respect for the man before him.

"Where's your bracelet?" He asked suspiciously.

"My what?" He asked confused.

"Mind your manners, boy!" Arthur roared while he dug in his pockets. Sylar closed his eyes and prepared for the worst. He knew what kinds of things people like him kept in their pockets. He only opened them again when Arthur grunted, "Gabriel Gray. Hmmph. You were just chipped about a month ago, so I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, but you watch your mouth around here." He put the remote back in his pocket to Sylar's relief. He wondered what other information the chip held about him. "Go on, I only have you until 6 and you damn well better know that I'm going to get every second of it out of you."

He strolled to the back of the house where Emily immediately ambushed him. "Hello, there." She cooed as she too walked slow circles around him. If the first man was full of bravado, she was full of something else entirely, but he couldn't tell if it was lust or power- sometimes the two had a habit of intermingling. She also had a remote and she looked down at it with a sick smile. "Gabriel." She reached up to trace a finger along the outline of his jaw, his rough stubble made a slight scraping sound. "What a beautiful name for a beautiful man." He remained still save for his eyes following her hand. "My garden will be so beautiful knowing an angel planted it. You were named for an angel, right?"

_The very same that brought down the wrath of God on the unworthy. _"Yes, Ma'am." He said quietly.

She seemed pleased with herself and with her ego sufficiently stroked, she allowed him to start digging while he she relaxed lazily on the porch just above him, thoughtfully eating his lunch and drinking a glass of ice water while she did so. In the excessive heat, it only took 15 minutes for him to start dripping sweat and it wasn't even noon yet. Watchmaking was a fine art that was done with excruciatingly slow movements and gentle persuasion- most often in air conditioned rooms. He simply had never done manual labor like that in his life and he knew he was going to be very sore the next morning. Still, he persevered under her gaze for another hour, breaking up the hard soil and planting various flowers until he finally had to stop. He sat back on his heels and wiped the sweat away from his eyes with the hem of his shirt even though it was almost soaked completely through. "Please." He nearly panted. "I need some water."

She raised her eyebrows as if he were asking the world of her and she dug through what remained in his lunch bag. She casually tossed the tube of sunscreen aside and threw him a bottle of water. His eyes grew dark when he realized that only about one quarter of the bottle was left. He didn't care that she ate his food, he couldn't imagine working in the hot sun with a full stomach anyway, but she also drank his water. It was all he had. He squinted up at her and watched her smile slowly. "Thought you were thirsty." She taunted.

He bit his tongue and finished off the bottle in three large, desperate gulps. She would have to water the plants sooner or later and he was determined to drink out of a garden hose if he had to…after he strangled her with it.

She giggled and leaned forward with her elbows on her knees to look down at him over the edge of the porch. In that position, he could clearly see her breasts under the tank top she wore, but he had the feeling that was the whole point. "You _are_ looking pretty hot." She almost whispered. "You might be cooler if you take your shirt off."

"I'm fine." He mumbled, picking up his spade to dig another hole for yet more daisies. Suddenly his vision went fuzzy and his nerves burned like napalm. When he recovered enough to do so, he grasped the back of his neck and looked up at her, gasping for breath from the pain.

She had a dead serious expression on her face while she gripped the remote tightly. "It wasn't a suggestion." Her smile was malignant and he clenched his teeth- for just a second she reminded him of Elle. The blonde hair, the electricity- he remembered nearly being cooked to death when she blasted him with her fury, but most of all he remembered the betrayal. He trusted her, he might have even loved her, she made him feel special beyond his powers but she lied to him- it was all a set-up and she deserved everything she got and more. Tired of waiting, Emily tapped the shock button again, this time for just a little longer to drive home the point that she was the master and she thought the way he fell on all fours and growled with a grimace to keep from screaming while his muscles convulsed was cute. Primal, but cute. "I can do this all day." She reminded in a bored tone.

Still shaking and struggling to breathe, he tentatively peeled his wet and dirty shirt off over his head and felt the sun's stinging rays on his skin. He glanced up at her as he tossed his soiled shirt aside to see if it would be enough to placate her. She scowled for a minute at him before picking up the tube of sunscreen and approaching him. "A little thinner than I thought." She snickered as she looked down on him mockingly. "But what's the saying? It's not the size that matters, but what you do with it?"

He took a deep breath and looked at the ground in front of him and prepared himself mentally to placidly keep calm. The situation was devolving quickly and he suspected her intentions were misdirected at best. While what was to come would surely be unpleasant, he would endure it even though it would mean allowing her to believe she was in control. She may have thought that he was helpless, but his sharp mind had a plan and she was playing right into his hands.

"A little pale too." She added with a mischievous grin until her voice grew hard. "Get up." He slowly pulled himself to his feet and stood tall to tower over her, his eyes oddly distant. She took it as a sign of submission and although it meant she had less work to do, she was hoping he would put up a little more of a fight. She squeezed a good amount of sunscreen into her hand and began slowly rubbing it into his skin. "We don't want you to get a sunburn, now do we?" She playfully asked, purposefully pressing harder over his bruised ribs. He flinched away slightly and clenched his teeth and she giggled. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing to keep calm while she continued to work her way around his body, her hands sliding across his sweat slicked skin and he was able to block out the sensation for the most part until she ran her hands around his midsection below his waistband and well below his navel.

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At the lunch table, the mood was mixed. News got around that Sylar was now officially a resident of the quarters and the reason for his absence was a subject for debate. Matt, for one, was very clear on his position. "I don't know why he volunteered to go over there, my guess is to run, but no matter what happens to him I won't cry him a river."

"He won't run." Hiro shook his head. "Surely he knows what happens when people run away."

"I believe he is a bit smarter than that." Mohinder agreed. "If it were that easy, everyone would and even he would recognize that. But as to what his plans are, I can't even speculate but I don't believe for a second that he will stay."

"Did you save some for me?" Peter asked from behind the pile of boxes and bags he was carrying into the quarters.

"Of course." Mohinder smiled as he got up from the table. "Allow me to help. What is all this for?"

"It's Sylar's stuff." He nodded gratefully as he was relieved of some of his burden.

Matt chuckled as he read the logo on one of the boxes and asked, "Sylar shops at the Gap?" Everyone in the room laughed at the image of him browsing the racks at a store, choosing a garment and replacing it after careful consideration in search of a different look.

"He does now." Peter laughed. "He has to wear clothes from somewhere."

Ando smiled widely and looked from one member of the room to the other before slyly asking, "What do you think: boxers, briefs, or hybrid?"

The room exploded again and Peter shook his head while he helped himself to a turkey sandwich. "I don't know and I don't want to know." He mumbled with his mouth full.

"You have to know!" Matt challenged. "You probably ordered them."

"Ok, so I did." He acknowledged wiping his mouth with a napkin. "But I don't see why we're obsessed about the man's underwear. Did any of us give a damn before? I don't remember any of you standing there that night at Kirby saying, 'That's a pretty awesome coat he's wearing. I wonder where he shops.' No, we were busy dodging flying parking meters, bullets, and…'

"You." Ando laughed.

Peter's cheeks blushed slightly. "Yeah, me."

"And now with any luck, Mr. Sylar is dodging Emily." Mohinder noted. No matter how much he may have disliked the man, he still couldn't justify being brutalized and she was well known for her need to dominate.

Matt raised his eyebrows and muttered, "Sylar and Emily. Those two are made for each other. It's like tossing a lion and a tiger in a cage to see who's the bigger predator."

"It's not a fair fight if you declaw one of them." Ando pointed out.

Hiro nodded with a small smile. "But he still has teeth."


	12. Lady Luck

**Chapter 12- Lady Luck**

Although he had a million things to do, Peter kept glancing at the clock and it seemed it never moved. If he didn't know better, he might have suspected that Hiro was making his day infinitely longer as a prank. He frowned and tried to focus on completing the monthly expense report for Maria so she could see where all of her money was going. This month she spent a little more than usual because of Sylar, but new slaves did entail a certain start-up cost that would even out in the months to follow. On a fortunate note, her pharmaceutical stock had gone up based on increased usage of her suppressant drug, so it almost evened out. His eyes drifted from the list of numbers in the spreadsheet to the clock at the bottom of his computer screen. 3:17pm. He sighed and looked away, frustrated that he let his curiosity get the better of him so soon. He stretched and sat slumped in his chair, staring blankly at the flashing cursor on his screen. He just couldn't focus and he knew why.

Something about Sylar seemed off, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. Sure he seemed a little eager to work at the Jessup's, but he chalked it up to being confined for too long. He knew from experience that Tipton kept his stock locked down tighter than a calf being raised for veal in a cage too small to turn around. Unless things had changed, the only exercise Sylar would have got was the process of standing or kneeling and that would have been barely enough to ease the cramps and keep blood flowing. Then he was confined to his room while he recovered and while it was necessary, it couldn't have been much better so when the opportunity came for him to actually do something and get a change of scenery it wasn't surprising that he jumped at the chance.

What was a little surprising is that he did it knowing that Emily seemed to be infatuated with him. Although Peter tried to stress in a tactful way that it was entirely possible that he might be forced into a sexually compromising situation without his consent, Sylar either didn't get the hint, underestimated her depravity, or simply didn't care. While it wasn't something he would do, or even entertain the thought of, perhaps Sylar thought she was cute enough and thought nothing of meaningless and free sex. Some men didn't really care so long as their physical needs were met and although it disturbed him a little to be curious about his sexual habits and predilections, it didn't seem entirely out of sorts with his selfish personality to take whatever he could get. He couldn't imagine Sylar was in the market for any kind of long-term relationship. Really, it seemed like a mutually beneficial arrangement for the two the more he thought about it.

But what if he was wrong? What if Sylar didn't really understand what he was agreeing to? What if she took full advantage of his status to indulge in her own sick fantasies, and Peter was fairly sure she would have some dark fetishes, what would that do to him- knowing he was powerless to stop her literally or figuratively? It might have been slightly less traumatic than what he assumed Tipton did, but it still wasn't right just because the perpetrator was a woman. No should have meant no, but slaves did not have the right to object and their bodies did not belong to them. 3:22pm. He sat up in his chair and furrowed his brow. He prayed for a miracle that things wouldn't go that far and he wished Hiro could speed time up because the wait was killing him.

0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0

Emily wasted no time in dragging Sylar to the barn and away from prying eyes to finally claim her prize. Although she initially resisted allowing him to actively participate, he brushed his full lips against her ear and breathed in a husky voice, "I can make this so much better for you. My hands are used to handling things far more delicate than flowers." A small, devious smile and wide, lustful eyes got him what he wanted and soon he was pressing his mouth against hers while he ran his hands along the curves of her body. It was too easy, really, and he was surprised that it took so little effort. Surely he wasn't the first to think of this.

There was a time when he, the original Gabriel that is, would have been frightened or at best clueless about how to handle such a situation, but he spent enough time as Sylar to learn a thing or two. Just because his IA was gone didn't mean the knowledge he gained with it was and he was very capable of pleasing women if he wanted to. But for now, he had to do a bit of mental balancing himself. He didn't like Emily. It wasn't that she was entirely unattractive, but she reminded him of Elle and that was a problem. He had an innate revulsion at the thought of her, so he had to keep his eyes closed and think of anything else but her, yet he had to be present enough to allow his body to react naturally under threat of more shocks and that would be a bigger problem. He never quite had such performance pressure before, but he skillfully slipped his hand in her back pocket under the pretense of pulling her closer to him to deftly remove the keychain sized remote from her pocket. He then backed away slightly to deposit it in his own pocket as though he were going to unzip his pants, all the while making sure her lips were occupied so she couldn't look down.

Both their eyes opened in surprise at Arthur's voice yelling from the yard. "Gray! Where the hell did you get off to? Get your ass here right now!"

Emily looked panicked, but Sylar gestured for her to keep quiet while he reached for a shovel and headed back out into the bright sunlight. "I'm here, Sir." He squinted.

"What the hell are you doin' in there?" The older man asked suspiciously.

"Emily asked me to clean the horse stalls and use the manure in the garden." He smoothly replied.

Arthur glanced over his shoulder at the freshly planted flowers and grunted. "Well, that'll have to wait. I see you got a shovel. Good. Ever do much grave diggin' boy?"

Sylar's eyebrow jumped slightly. "No, Sir." It wasn't a lie- he never buried any of his victims. He left them where they lay and went on his merry way to test his newly stolen power. To mess with a corpse after he got what he wanted just seemed bizarre and unnecessary. He never left behind any evidence, there was no need to hide what he did.

"Well, today's the day. Go out into the woods, dig a six foot hole and don't open your mouth about it. The body's upstairs. Get to work."

Although it was supremely unsettling, he leaned his shovel against the porch and made his way to the upstairs of the dark house to take out the trash. The house itself looked as though it had been abandoned rather than lived in. Things seemed in disrepair and there were very few personal artifacts such as pictures or trinkets. The wallpaper was old and dated and the whole house had a musky, moldy smell that indicated it hadn't been thoroughly cleaned in quite some time. The stairs creaked under his weight and he cautiously pushed open the first door he came to.

The room was fairly small and even more run down than the rest of the house. The only window in the room had been boarded up, only letting slits of light through the gaps to illuminate the sparsely furnished space. On the twin bed lie the body of a girl and he assumed he had the right place when she didn't move after he cleared his throat to announce his presence. He stood directly over her and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. When he could properly focus, he noticed the blood on her face and neck and he felt silly for not wanting to startle someone who was so obviously dead. She was an Asian girl, perhaps no more than 12 dressed in a yellow sundress with white flowers. Her black hair had been braided in two long strands that rested on either shoulder and he noticed the doll that lay just out of her reach on the bed. She had obviously been beaten to death, the blood was fresh but he saw bruises of many different colors on her face, arms, and legs that suggested this was not a freak accident. His mind was completely numb as he looked down at her. Almost mechanically, he scooped her up, reached back for her doll, and carried her to the woods.

He kept glancing at her as he dug the hole deeper. With every shovel full of dirt he wondered what power she had and why she had been killed. He tried not to look at her face, but he couldn't help but wonder if maybe she was better off than the life she had. He didn't torture his victims- not like that. When he finished digging, he jumped out of the hole and crouched by her body to deposit it when he felt something digging into his hip. He touched his pocket and remembered the remote control he had stolen from Emily. And then he looked down at the girl's body. If he was going to understand how the chip worked, it would be helpful to have one to experiment on and he looked at her again. He knew it was wrong, but she was dead and he had to figure out how to get his own freedom to get his powers back. Her sacrifice would have a purpose, he rationalized as he looked around for anything sharp to cut her neck open with. The sun was setting in the sky which meant he didn't have much time- Peter would be back to get him soon. He finally settled on a sharp rock and went to work, sawing and prying his way with the blunt instrument past her flesh until he exposed the chip. With a little more gentle prying he managed to work it lose from the vertebrae it was fused to and he slipped it into his pocket with the remote.

He carefully placed her body in the hole, positioning her hands across her chest. She looked anything but peaceful and he felt just a twinge of guilt, but nothing more. He carefully tucked the doll under her hands and noticed the bracelet on her wrist. He twisted it to read it and said, "Well, Fann Wong, looks like this is where we say goodbye." He did as much as he felt he had to in order to give her some sort of dignity for her burial. He took one last look at her before he began dropping full loads of dirt onto her broken body. "Don't worry," he smiled, "I'll avenge your death. Consider it the price for your contribution toward my ultimate goal."

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Peter sat impatiently in the car in front of the creepy house. It was 5:59, just like he told Sylar but he didn't see him anywhere. He really hoped this wouldn't result in a confrontation with Jessup. If he had to return and tell Maria that Arthur refused to turn Sylar over as agreed, she would have a meltdown. While he wouldn't mind watching her put the old man in his place, it would strain the tentative relationship they had and possibly endanger her work. The clock changed to 6:00 and Peter gripped the steering wheel tightly. He would give it one more minute before he got out of the car and knocked on the door. Much to his relief, Sylar walked slowly from the back of the house, carrying his soiled shirt and a check for Maria for his services.

Peter tried not to notice, but Sylar smelled like sweat, dirt, and horses and it was pretty overwhelming in such a confined space. He was surprised that he wasn't wearing a shirt and he turned his head quickly at the sight of the faint pink scar that ran vertical to his sternum. They were so close… "I see you made it." He nodded as he pulled away, adding cleaning the interior of the car to his mental to-do list. Sylar laid his head back and glanced sideways at his driver. He clearly wasn't in the mood to talk about it and honestly he wasn't surprised. Whatever happened, it wasn't like him to share details, so they took the trip together in silence.

"Sylar, you have returned!" Mohinder greeted with a smile as he stirred a boiling pot. "Dinner will be ready in approximately 30 minutes if you wish to join us."

Sylar had a blank expression on his face as he stood in the common area of the quarters, staring at the cook and the large dining table. A place had been set for him in the assumption he would want to eat with the others and although he was starving, he wasn't prepared for a sit down dinner with everyone who had tried to kill him. "I'll take mine to go- hold the curare."

Mohinder glanced over his shoulder at the snarky remark, but he wasn't at all sorry he spiked his chai. His only regret was not noticing that it had worn off before he could kill him. Getting to jam the incredibly long, large bore needle into his spinal canal to extract fluid and listening to Sylar scream in agony was his consolation prize. "I imagine you are quite hungry. It looks as though they made good use of you today."

"I earned the money I don't get to keep." He replied in a low voice.

"It smells like it." Matt quipped, playfully waving his hand in front of his nose as he took a seat at the table. "Jesus, hit the shower before we all lose our appetite."

He glared at Matt before turning to go to his room. He would endure their taunts for the time being because in the end, he would be the only one laughing. He quietly shut the door to his room and was pleased to see his clothing had come in. Peter had stacked up the boxes and bags neatly on the floor by the closet. Likewise, the toiletries he requested had been placed on the sink in the bathroom. He opened the medicine cabinet to put the items away and paused when he spotted a bottle of perfume that had been left on the shelf. He reached for it and waved it gently under his nose and he recognized it immediately: Claire. It was the same light scent he detected while he hovered over her in her living room, so close to her as he took what he wanted. Had she been there? Was he now in her former room? He glanced at the bed and imagined her laying there, but something else caught his attention.

On the desk lay a hefty book titled, "Machinery's Handbook Toolbox Edition." He flipped it to read the back cover and smirked at the bold boast at the top of the dust jacket: "For nearly 100 years, the Bible of the mechanical industries." He opened it and a note fell out.

"Gabriel-

I spotted this in the library today and I thought of you. You said you liked complex problems and as you were a watchmaker, I assume you also enjoy at least certain aspects of engineering. Hopefully this book will be enough to hold your attention for at least a little while and if this is the type of subject matter you enjoy, there are more like it that you are welcome to borrow. -Maria"

He set the book down and fished the remote and stolen chip from his pocket. The gods were certainly smiling on him today. All he needed now was a set of fine tools and privacy to crack the code. It might take time, but he was a patient man and was nothing if not persistent in pursuing his goals.


	13. Beautiful Liar

**A/N: Welcome twilighter! **

**Chapter 13- Beautiful Liar**

The next morning, Sylar was more than just a little sore. The slightest change in posture sent stabbing sensations of pain through his shoulders from the overused muscles and he lay in bed, cursing the fact that he no longer had the ability to heal- well, as fast as he had previously been accustomed to anyway. Before, he dove head first into any physical challenge be it flipping armored police cars or taking a full clip of bullets in the torso from Bennet because he knew there would be no real consequence aside from the fleeting pain of the injury. But now, he fully understood the common saying of "I'm getting too old for this shit."

He stumbled into the bathroom and got ready for the day, washing his face and smoothing his eyebrows into submission with the help of a little bit of the gel he used to rough up his short hair. It was then that he noticed the blisters on the palms of his hands. The skin was red and tender and it hurt to grasp anything. He had done an awful lot of digging the day before and it caught up to him. He hoped Maria would have mercy on him and not give him any difficult chores and if she did, he was reasonably sure he could flash his kicked puppy eyes and she would reconsider. He knew he was playing to her compassionate nature and he would continue to do so as long as it suited his purposes without a second thought.

He put on a pair of dark wash jeans and the black shirt he ordered from the Gap and was pleased to be wearing clothes that fit properly. The pants were still a little loose, but when he got back up to his usual weight they would be perfect and at least overall he was in the style he preferred. He was careful to hide his stolen property under the mattress of his bed least anyone snoop and find it, and he made his way to the kitchen for breakfast feeling something like his old self again.

"Good morning, Sylar." Ando cautiously greeted. He knew it was probably a waste of his time, but it seemed rude not to acknowledge him. To his relief, Sylar didn't have a sharp retort in store- he only glanced over his shoulder as he helped himself to a bowl of oatmeal at the stove and proceeded to rummage through the cabinets.

Mohinder lifted his eyebrows somewhat amused. "May I direct you to anything in particular?"

"Raisins, brown sugar, nuts- preferably walnut but any will do." He responded reading the labels of various spice bottles in his quest.

"Ah. Not a simple man to be content with a plain whole grain." He chuckled. "You will find what you're after in the last cabinet on the left- the items used for baking."

After he had doctored his oatmeal to his liking and threw in a chopped up banana for good measure, he poured himself a glass of skim milk and sat at the table. He reached for the last blueberry muffin and paused with a deadly look in his eye. Unfortunately for Hiro, he chose the exact same moment to claim the spoils of breakfast and he almost beat Sylar to it, but he timidly backed away under the withering glare that was boring holes in his flesh and Matt thought it was hilarious. Sylar waited for just a second more before picking it up and placing it next to his milk. This was exactly why he hated eating with others. It felt like they were all watching him, like they had never seen a man eat before and it made him a little self conscious. The night before he waited for everyone to go to bed and he ate in the kitchen alone and he washed his own dishes to boot to avoid such a spectacle.

"So, what's on tap today?" Matt asked turning his attention to Peter.

"The usual." He mumbled into his coffee. "Although I think today will be fairly short. There really isn't much to get done today."

"I love it when it gets slow." Ando nodded in appreciation. "Gives me more time to work on my bike."

"I will help you." Hiro volunteered cheerily. Perhaps everyone but Sylar knew that Hiro's mechanical skills were less than stellar, but his real mission was to provide moral support and occasionally pass a wrench while he lectured on various attributes of comic book characters.

"What do you have planned for your free time?" Mohinder asked Matt.

Matt shrugged and looked down at the table miserably. "Still grinding away."

"Keep at it." Peter encouraged with a serious face. "I know it's hard, but believe me it will be so worth it."

Sylar immediately picked up on Matt's discomfort. "What's worth it?"

Even though Matt started to protest, Mohinder smiled. "Matt is taking college courses via correspondence for corrections and law enforcement."

Sylar looked blankly at him. "I thought you were a cop."

"I was." Matt was clearly uncomfortable with the conversation. "But I just thought, you know, if this whole thing ends sometime soon that having something to show for it might help me."

To his surprise, Sylar nodded appreciatively. "It never hurts to better yourself. With a degree you will be more valuable and eligible for promotion."

"It's not that easy." Matt grumbled. "There's a reason I was a beat cop for 11 years." Sylar stared expectantly at him until he finally caved in exasperation. "I have a hard time reading, ok?"

Sylar blinked slowly, but otherwise appeared stoic. "Dyslexia isn't at all uncommon." He said matter of factly. "Approximately 10% of the population has some difficulty recognizing words on sight and it's completely independent of cognitive ability." He lowered his eyes and quietly added, "I'm sure you've figured out a technique that works for you, but skimming can be useful. For most written material, you can get the context of the content by reading just the first and last sentence of a paragraph. It can save you time- it's what I sometimes do to get through a book quickly."

Matt was reticent to acknowledge the villain's helpful advice because he just knew there was a trick to it, but Peter beat him to it. "That's a good idea, Sylar." He looked pointedly at Matt as if to chastise him for not being grateful.

"And what will you do, Mohinder?" Sylar's voice sounded sweet, but the acidic nature was very apparent.

Peter glanced quickly at him and Mohinder's features darkened just a bit, but he recovered quickly. "My job doesn't slow down. Meals still come 3 times a day." Sylar wasn't fooled for one minute. Something transpired between them and it piqued his interest. "And yourself?"

It was clear the gears were turning in his head and it gave the men pause to wonder if they had let on too much, but he smirked. "I plan on paying a visit to Maria."

"What for?" Peter's tone was just a little defensive.

"To thank her." He pretended to be offended, but the dark implication of danger still hung in the air and that was the way he liked it- never let them know his true intentions. "She left a book for me from her personal library." With another wicked smile he got up and left the table for the main house while the rest looked after him. He hadn't the first clue where to find her in the huge house, but luckily he spotted her emerging from a doorway off the main hall that he presumed led to a basement. Whatever it was, the way she made sure the electronic lock engaged when she shut the door was clearly meant to let him know the area was off limits to him. "Maria," he smiled congenially as though he didn't notice the sleight, "I wanted to thank you for loaning me the book. I perused it last night and I think I'll enjoy it a lot."

"Great! I thought you might." She gestured for him to follow her and she took him to the library. "This is where it came from. You can pick out anything you like."

He seemed momentarily stunned by the sheer number of books that went from floor to ceiling in cases so massive a ladder was needed to reach the top shelves. This was the kind of library he always wanted and the overstuffed brown leather furniture and oriental rugs just added to the ambiance. He could spend eternity in a place like that with a nice fire raging in the large marble fireplace at the end of the room. For the first time in a very long time, a genuine smile spread across his face. "This is a wonderful collection." He approached one of the shelves and gently pulled a book out of the row. The way he handled it with such care made her smile. He was almost breathless as he turned to her, his eyes full of admiration. "This is Shakespeare's entire folio of works from 1625." He ran his hand over the cover of the gilt brown leather almost reverently. "I can't imagine how rare this book is."

"Very." She smiled. "It was Bryant's wedding gift to me. What woman wouldn't be a sucker for vintage Shakespeare?"

He smiled lightly in concession and replaced it. "He had impeccable taste."

The joy mellowed into sadness and she quietly agreed. "Yes he did."

"Was that a gift as well?" He asked gesturing to the silver watch that encircled her wrist. He squinted and cocked his head slightly. "Ebel?"

She laughed in amusement. "It is. You certainly know your watches."

"May I?" He asked humbly extending his hand so she could deposit it. After she removed it and gave it to him, he turned the warm metal in his hands and looked it over carefully. "Brasila Ladies' 1215780." Although he tried to sound impressed, to his trained eye it was middle of the road at best. It was exactly the kind of thing he would recommend to the man who strayed into his shop at the last minute looking for a flashy but not too expensive piece to impress the significant other with. He held it to his ear and concentrated on the soft ticking. It was a sound he missed, comforting and predictable. He returned it to her and gave a small smile. "It's about a half a second slow."

She put it back on. "That much?"

"It adds up." He shrugged. "12 minutes a day."

She shook her head and smiled. "Gabriel, you are remarkable. Did you just calculate that in your head?"

He smirked and pretended to be embarrassed. "I could fix it for you. It probably just needs to have the hairspring tightened. I wouldn't need any parts, just a simple set of tools."

"I would appreciate it. See what you can find and have Peter order what you need." She took a seat at her desk and folded her hands in front of her in a stern manner. "Show me your hands again." He seemed confused, but put his hands up as though he were surrendering and she frowned. "And while you're at it, have him take a look at those blisters. I was worried that would happen. I'll tell him not to expect you to work today."

He looked down at his hands and seemed to consider them in detail. "I can still work."

"No," she snickered, "you can't. More precisely you won't." She seemed unsettled and she cast her eyes down to her desk. "Gabriel, I'm going to ask you a question and although it may be uncomfortable, I need you to give me a straight answer." He licked his lips and nodded earnestly. He suspected he knew what was coming, but he tried to keep his mind open just in case she threw him a curveball. "When you were at the Jessup's, did you work for Emily?"

"Yes, Ma'am." He affirmed. "I planted flowers." _And an Asian girl_.

She sighed, but forged ahead. "Did she…I don't know how to phrase this tactfully, but did she force you to engage in…unwanted physical contact?"

He swallowed and glanced to the side as he pondered how he would answer. Did she rape him? No, but she might have had her father not intervened and it wasn't like he was an absolute victim because he was baiting her a little. But as his mind replayed her words, he saw a way out and the word "Yes" fell from his lips almost like a whisper. She did force him to take his shirt off so she could smear the sunscreen all over him, which he strongly preferred she not do, so it was in fact unwanted physical contact. And while she wasn't bad at kissing, he'd had better so he could have lived without that as well. It was all perfectly justified in his mind.

"Gabriel." She sighed in defeat. "I should have known better when I saw the way she was looking at you, she obviously thought you were attractive and I failed. I'm so sorry."

She seemed on the verge of tears and he cleared his throat uncomfortably- he wasn't quite sure of what to do at first and then his salvation entered the room. "Maria?" Peter asked worried as he looked accusingly at Sylar.

She seemed to pull herself together in his presence and she bravely smiled. "It's ok, Peter. I'm glad you're here though. As of today, none of you will be loaned out to Jessup no matter how much he offers to pay. No amount can justify what he or Emily does to any of you. I'm not running a stud service here."

Peter glanced at Sylar who hung his head. So his suspicions were true and Emily did get the best of him. In that moment, Sylar seemed so vulnerable and Peter actually felt sorry for him even though he tried to warn him that it could happen. In that moment, Peter caught a glimpse of the watchmaker: uncertain, ashamed and most of all powerless. Gone was the fierceness that blazed in his eyes, the defiance that smoldered despite Tipton's attempts to subdue him, gone was the supreme confidence of a man who knows that he may have lost the battle but was in it to win the war. All that remained was a traumatized empty shell that he barely recognized.

"Gabriel won't be working today." She quietly continued. "His hands are blistered."

Peter nodded and turned to Sylar. "Can I take a look at them?" To his surprise, he willingly allowed him to examine his raw, blistered flesh without pulling away like a wounded animal to die alone. Peter was careful not to poke or prod too much because it looked painful. "Looks like the skin is broken in a few places. We should get some ointment on that before it gets infected. Sore muscles too?" Sylar nodded numbly. "Alright. I'll get some aspirin. You should be back to neat in a few days."

"Maria," Sylar softly spoke, "could I ask a favor of you?"

She sat up in her chair. "Sure, Gabriel. What is it?" She felt guilty as it was, anything she could do to ease her conscience would be welcome.

"I was wondering if it might be possible for me to leave the property for a little bit." He noted the hesitation in her posture, so he followed up with a sheepish, "I just want to be alone for a little while."

She could certainly understand the need for him to try to pull the pieces of his shattered self-esteem back together after essentially being victimized twice, but the fact remained that she didn't fully trust him yet. He was new and she couldn't let him go by himself until she was sure he wasn't a flight risk and although he may not appreciate it, it really was more for his protection than hers. "You can leave," she granted cautiously, "but Peter will go with you and you need to be back by dinner."

He secretly cursed the fact that his plan didn't work the way he wanted it to, but he was committed now. He didn't sell it quite hard enough, but any more and Peter may have become suspicious. "Thanks for understanding, Maria." He graciously smiled.

"You're welcome, Gabriel." She removed her remote from the drawer and gave Peter an apologetic smile.

He took a deep breath and slowly closed his eyes. He never quite got used to the sensation, but if it meant a day off and if it would help Sylar in any way, he would gladly take it. He just wondered what Sylar had in mind.


	14. Faithless

**Chapter 14- Faithless**

Maria worked at her desk in the lab while Mohinder mixed chemicals in test tubes under a plastic shield so as not to contaminate the samples. Although she tried to focus on her work, she ended up mindlessly shuffling the same papers from one end of her desk to the other until her partner finally got up the courage to ask, "Maria, is something bothering you?"

She seemed lost as though she didn't even realize he was in the room. "I..uh.." she rearranged the papers once more and sighed. "I'm sorry, Mohinder. I guess today just didn't start very well."

"I see." He smiled softly to put her at ease. "Is there anything I can do?"

Maria considered herself lucky to have people like Mohinder and Peter. For the most part she had to keep a stiff upper lip and sometimes it felt like she bore the weight of the world on her shoulders, but around those two she could let her guard down. They didn't pity her or fault her for showing cracks in her carefully constructed façade under the pressure. Both excelled at patience and understanding although she viewed them in slightly different roles: Mohinder was more of a trusted colleague while Peter was closer to a brother or best friend. "I think I solved the problem for now, but I'm always waiting for the next shoe to drop and I think things are about to get worse."

He carefully shook a test tube to mix the contents. "What do you mean?"

"I sent Gabriel to Jessup's yesterday and he wasn't treated as fairly as I would have liked. Add that to keeping Matt and Ando hostage and it was the last straw."

Mohinder scoffed. "Well, that's to be expected. Not everyone holds the same views of specials as you do, least of all Arthur or Emily Jessup."

"I know, but some things are just beyond unacceptable and I can't in good conscience subject any of you to that anymore. I know my decision to stop loaning him staff will have consequences, I'm just not sure what. I know he's probably struggling since his wife and sons died in the car accident a few years ago and I suspect he keeps borrowing from me because he can't afford to buy more of his own staff. I haven't been over there in awhile, but it seems like he has just stopped living- everything was a mess."

He smiled lightly every time she called them 'staff' rather than 'slaves' because she just couldn't bring herself to degrade them in that way. "No doubt grief has contributed to the decline of his fortunes, but I believe he's also falling victim to his own character. Men like Arthur ultimately become entrapped in their own quest for power not realizing that the more they fight the tighter the noose becomes until they are ultimately abandoned by anyone who may have otherwise helped- including yourself."

"I can't do anything about the way he chooses to live his life, but I can elect not to allow him to take his frustrations out on you. We'll all just have to be more careful when dealing with him so we don't give him any more provocation. He's still convinced he was cheated out of his share of money from the chipset design."

"Is he still on about that?" Mohinder chucked while he injected a small amount of his concoction into a petri dish for later analysis. "Still convinced he designed the control chips that keep us all docile and cheated of the windfall of money from the proceeds?"

"He was a pretty good electrical engineer, but I'm not convinced the entire design was his own." She shook her head and frowned. "He and Bryant used to argue all the time and I think it just underlined the vast differences in ideology. Bryant was for minimally invasive chemical restraint while Arthur favored a more draconian approach. Obviously in the end, the government thought it was best to use both technologies."

"I can't say I disagree." He shrugged. He may have been a victim of an unwanted implant, but he was still a rational scientist. "Chips alone could easily be thwarted or removed if one was determined enough to perform surgery in their own bathrooms and the medications could likewise be skipped or diluted. The only logical conclusion was to use them both ."

"Well, if we keep working, we can at least mitigate one of the components." Her determinism was not lost on him. She seemed to want it to work more than anyone. "Did I tell you Peter tried the first formulation?"

"No," he blinked in surprise, "you didn't. I didn't think it was yet ready for trials but…" he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "how did it work?"

"It did." She wore a giddy grin despite her professionalism. "It took a little longer than I expected, but it eventually neutralized the suppressor and he was able to conjure up some blue energy in his hands. He wanted to keep it under wraps until it was ready and undetectable and for the time being he chose to replace the suppressor."

Mohinder took a seat by her desk while his mind wrapped itself around the news. "I think his reservations are well founded. The delay may have been due to low potency, but with his natural healing ability it's uncertain if that may have been a factor as well. At any rate, it certainly would have masked any side effects of the serum." He stood to face her and held his chin high. "I would like to be the next to test it. As I am lacking regeneration, we will soon see if the serum requires further refinement."

"Mohinder," she warned, "I appreciate your dedication, but you know as well as I do that if you do experience any catastrophic side effects, I can't very well take you to a hospital. If Peter can't save you…"

"I am aware." He nodded with determination. "I accept the risk because if I don't we may never know if it will do what we set out to accomplish. It isn't as though we can test it out on mice." He flashed a tense smile and added, "At least I'm not aware of any mice that possess superpowers."

"Well, you are partially responsible for its creation, so I suppose it's only fair. But Peter's out with Gabriel right now and I will insist we wait until he's here to standby for medical support if needed. There's a difference between being adventurous and foolhardy."

"Fair enough." He conceded returning to his chemicals. "So are Peter and Sylar off on errands?"

"He is going by Gabriel now and to tell the truth, I'm glad for it. I don't know where the name 'Sylar' came from anyway." Mohinder remained at his station and kept his back to her so she wouldn't see him roll his eyes in disgust. He knew very well where the name came from. "Did you know him before he came? Peter said he did and I know you two were also connected before coming here."

"Oh yes. Our paths have crossed before."

"Hmm. Small world." She noted. "Did he fix a watch for you or something?"

_No, but he broke one while murdering my father. _"Not exactly. He took an…interest…in my father's work."

"You know, that doesn't really surprise me. Gabriel certainly has a curious mind and your father's work was groundbreaking and very complex. Too bad he was ahead of his time. Thankfully, you had the courage to continue his legacy. Like all brilliant scientists, time will vindicate him, Mohinder. Copernicus and Galileo were branded heretics before it became undeniable that they were correct. I think that time is coming for your father when he will finally be recognized for the visionary he was and you are adding to his contribution by working on the serum that allows evolution to take place unhindered."

"Maria, doesn't it bother you that you are essentially aiding in the extinction of your own species?" He asked thoughtfully. "It would only be normal to fight for your own survival."

She didn't even look up from her microscope. "It's the natural order of things, Mohinder. Everything that is born will die, empires will rise and fall. The best you can hope for is that something better will replace it." She adjusted the magnification and chuckled. "Besides, Cro-Magnons never asked the Neanderthals how they felt about being replaced, but I think we're all better off for it."

0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0

Peter stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked around with a bewildered expression on his face. "Ok, I wasn't expecting this." He admitted.

Sylar took a seat on the carved marble bench facing a 12th century stained glass panel and casually asked, "Why not?"

He sat at the other end of the bench and kept looking around at the carved columns and religiously themed paintings and artwork that filled the room. It was a reconstructed courtyard of a cloister from Italy and it created a uniquely peaceful setting to contemplate the material that was displayed. He couldn't imagine how many centuries worth of monks chanting prayers permeated the stone. "I mean, an art museum isn't surprising, but why this section?" He stared straight ahead at a richly painted scene of the Virgin Mary holding the crucified body of Jesus while she cried. "I thought you'd be more of the modern art kind."

Sylar kept his eyes on the stained glass that was illuminated from behind as though the light of God were shining through the image of an angel holding a spear to the neck of a demon under his sandaled foot. His voice was soft and slightly despondent. "You think I'm soulless."

Peter was caught off guard. "No, I didn't say that. I just guess I never thought of you as a religious person."

"I used to, you know." He leaned forward to place his elbows on his knees while he continued to look up and it seemed as though he were asking forgiveness from the angel. "Every Sunday I used to go to Mass like a good Catholic boy. Every Sunday I used to close my eyes and pray that God would send an angel to guide me, help me be a better person, give me a better life."

"So what happened?" He was surprised at his sudden candor, but what blew his mind was the fact that he actually shared a common experience with the killer. He too spent many hours in church, although it only seemed to be on major holidays.

"I figured out that no one was listening." He almost whispered. "It was all a lie."

"I don't think it's a lie." Peter countered. "I mean, there may not be angels that live in clouds, but the message is still relevant. I just think that maybe it's up to us to do the work of angels and help others." He let the silence settle between them before asking, "So if you don't believe in all this, why are you here?"

"Because it's quiet." He answered simply. "People don't want to face mortality or the thought of moral judgment so they skip on over to Van Gogh or Picasso. Water lilies and bowls of fruit won't condemn you for your sins."

He had to give it to him, it made sense. But if he was looking for some kind of absolution for his many, many sins they would be there well past dinner. "When was the last time you went to Mass?"

Sylar shook his head with a small smirk. "The last time I was there as a believer, I was 12. I went after that, but it was hollow and meaningless. It was like watching one well orchestrated, gold gilded stage production in Latin." He glanced sideways at Peter and scoffed. "I'll bet you were an altar boy, weren't you?"

"Me?" Peter laughed. "No. I couldn't concentrate long enough. Ma had to keep elbowing me in ribs because I daydreamed too much. But believe it or not, I caught on not much longer after you did." He looked at the floor solemnly. "At some point I think we all do."

"Life has a way of doing that." Sylar agreed. "And no amount of fairy tales will make the ugliness of the basest of men's natures less primal or brutal."

Peter tended to disagree. "Not everyone's like that. I think most people are basically good."

"Really?" The sarcasm was thick in his voice. "The same good people that chose to enslave us and take away our basic human dignities? The same ones who see us as property? Nothing more than a chair or piece of jewelry?"

He didn't appreciate having his own words twisted out of context. "What are you going to do? Kill them all?" He frowned. "Reign down the righteous justice of God on them all by yourself?"

Sylar's eyes were sad and his shoulders slumped. "No. Those days are gone, Peter, no matter how much I wish it weren't so. I don't have my powers to defend myself, but it doesn't mean I have to be content with a life less ordinary."

Peter scooted closer to his former nemesis and thought about what Bennet said. "You're thinking of running, aren't you?" He asked in a hushed tone so no one could hear. "Don't do it, Sylar. You don't know what you're getting into."

"Peter, if you.."

He put his hand up to silence him and gave him the most serious expression he could muster. "I am seriously not shitting you, Sylar. If it were that easy, don't you think everyone would do it, or at least try? They don't and you know why? There are hired gangs of mercenaries that do nothing but track down escaped slaves and you know as well as I do that it's a finders keepers situation. If you run and get caught, Maria can't demand you be returned and I can almost guarantee you that whoever finds you won't be as considerate as she is. Where will you hide anyway? In case you forgot, you have a chip in your neck that tells anyone with a remote in a half mile radius who and where you are at all times." He paused and sighed. "Look, I don't expect you to love the situation, but I do think you should just be patient and trust us until your turn comes. Maria can get you to freedom, but you have to play along."


	15. Been Caught Stealing

**A/N: Woohooo! The party grows as Ninive and OneofJennifer arrive! Grab some popcorn and talk amongst yourselves…**

**Chapter 15- Been Caught Stealing**

Matt stared up into the canopy of the large oak tree by the house and squinted. "I know you're up there." He announced setting the trap by the base. "And I got all day to get you. It's the only job I have today, so you might as well just come down and walk into this cage so I can take you to the vet and we can both get on with our business."

Iago swished his tail and meowed at his would be captor. He had no intention of going anywhere, he was very comfortable where he was on his branch.

Matt looked at the window across from the branch and he sighed in frustration. "You know Sylar doesn't live there anymore. He's not going to open the window to let you in, so if that's what you wanted you have a very long wait ahead of you." When the cat paid him no mind, he grew frustrated. "You know, I have better things to do with my time than negotiate with you. Either you get down from there, or I'll go find a garden hose and I know you won't like that."

"Why not just climb up there and get him down?" Peter asked joining him under the tree.

Matt looked at him as though he were insane. "Well, good thing you're back then. You can climb up there after the hellspawn and get your ass kicked. Hope your rabies shots are up to date."

"Why are you trying to trap him?" Sylar asked regarding his furry acquaintance.

"Maria wants him neutered." Matt grumbled. "If it were me, I'd want it dead."

Sylar cringed slightly for Iago. "That's probably not the best idea for an outdoor cat. Neutering removes the drives that help keep him alive. He will become less aggressive and easy prey for more dominant cats."

Peter swung his head in Sylar's direction with a small smile. "She thought you wanted to keep him, so he won't be out here."

He smirked at the little black cat. "No, I couldn't. If keeping him means he will have to give up a big part of his nature, I'd rather see him free and intact."

"Whatever." Matt huffed as he retrieved his trap and headed back to the barn. "Makes my day easier."

"Wow," Peter exclaimed raising his eyebrows, "live and let live. You are a different person without your powers."

Sylar's eyes darkened defensively. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Peter chuckled. "I'm just sayin'. The old Sylar wouldn't have given a damn because he was selfish and his agenda was the only one that mattered. In fact, the old Sylar wouldn't have even been interested in the cat at all, but without your powers to warp your perception, you can see more clearly. I had them once and I know what it's like."

Sylar was about to hurl one of his carefully crafted retorts back at him- something to the effect of Peter being too weak to control it- but the sound of Arthur's booming voice drew his attention. "There he is! Goddamn thief!" Sylar trained his eyes on the rapidly approaching larger man in an effort to gauge the situation so he could choose the appropriate response. The only response he had time for was to brace himself for the mighty left hook that Arthur threw at him and he hit the ground, seeing stars.

"Where is it?" Arthur bellowed, his face crimson with anger. "Where's the remote you stole from Emily?"

"Arthur!" Maria yelled as she ran across the back yard with Hiro in tow.

"Where is it?" He yelled again before kicking Sylar hard enough in the ribs to send him sprawling at Peter's feet a yard away. Peter looked down at him, but he didn't move a muscle to help him; he knew he couldn't- not yet.

Sylar clutched his ribs and gasped for breath while blood dripped to the ground from his mouth. "I…"

"Arthur, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Maria demanded, placing herself between the two men. "What has gotten into you?"

He backed away a few steps and smoothed his mustache in an effort to regain his composure. "Your boy stole a remote from Emily while he was over there working yesterday."

"How do you know it was him?" She asked casually. "Maybe she lost it."

"She didn't lose it." He ground out, on the verge of losing his patience again. "We looked all over the place and it's gone. All my slaves know better than to do something like that, but _that_ one," he jabbed a finger in Sylar's direction, "is wild. You need to get him under control, Maria. Give him to me, I'd have him walking the straight and narrow in a week."

"I have no doubt." She sighed as she folded her arms and looked back at Sylar who was now on all fours and still trying to catch his breath. She pretended his suffering didn't bother her in the least. "Did you take it?" She asked. He looked up at her with pleading eyes, the shock plain on his face. She turned back to Arthur and her face was etched in stone. "I can see this may take some time. I'll deal with it."

He looked contemptuously at the bleeding man and wished he had just a few more seconds to beat the truth out of him, but he gave a curt nod and murmured, "See that you do."

She and Hiro escorted Arthur back to the gate and quickly threw a backwards glance at Peter who took his cue. He squatted next to Sylar and placed his hand on his shoulder. "Are you ok?" He asked in a concerned tone.

Sylar gave a twisted smile and spit a mouthful of blood onto the ground below. "Never been better."

"C'mon," he invited by extending his hand to help him up, "let's get you to your room so I can take a look at the damage." Sylar glanced at his hand, but chose to struggle to his feet without his help. Peter didn't take it as an insult and he didn't expect him to take the offer anyway. "I have to stop by the main house and get some things, but I'll be there shortly. Can you get there on your own?"

Sylar was still having trouble controlling his breathing and the blood that stained his mouth looked like smeared lipstick, but the fire had rekindled in his eyes. "I'll manage." He vowed with a slight wince. And manage he did, although it took him nearly four times longer than it normally would have to transverse the space between the tree and the quarters and even so he had to stop twice along the way to allow the pain to subside enough for him to continue. No matter how much it hurt, he had to get to his room before Peter did and although lifting the mattress on his bed was like trying to flip the armored police truck without his powers, he snagged the remote and chip in question and shoved them into his pocket just as he heard a light knock on his door.

"Sylar?" Peter called. He didn't want to just walk in and he was reasonably sure he heard movements inside. "Can I come in?" The door knob giggled slightly and the door creaked open just enough for him to see Sylar walking away and struggling to get his shirt off, apparently he was to let himself in from that point. He entered and set his supplies on the desk by the massive book Maria had loaned him. He was about to ask Sylar to have a seat on the bed when there was another knock.

"I'm sorry to bother you," Maria apologized, "I just came to see how you were, Gabriel." He said nothing as he draped his bloody shirt on the back of his desk chair. She looked down at the floor in an effort to at least give him a little bit of privacy in his own room. "I'm sorry to have to do this, but I do have to search your room. I have to at least make a show of trying to find the lost remote." He nodded and gestured for them to have at it, but it was apparent that he was doing so only because he knew he had no choice. "Please be quick, gentlemen, so Peter can get to work." She advised Ando and Matt.

Sylar leaned against a wall in the corner of the room while he watched all of his personal belongings rifled through, all of his clothes inspected, and his bathroom investigated while he waited for medical attention. "This yours?" Matt laughed as he emerged from the bathroom dangling the bottle of perfume.

Peter took it from him with a frown. "It's Claire's. She must have left it behind. Are you guys done yet? 'Cause I think he's waited long enough." He turned to Maria and said in softer tone, "He doesn't have it, can I get to work now?"

She nodded in agreement. "I didn't think he did. I'm sorry for this, Gabriel." He indicated that he understood and she whispered to Peter, "Let me know."

"I will." He promised with a small smile. He knew she'd want a full status report and although she pretended not to care for the benefit of Arthur, it killed her as much as it did him to just stand by and watch the beating. After she quietly shut the door to leave, he tuned and gestured for his patient to sit on the bed while he removed his stethoscope from his supply bag.

Sylar slowly sat down and eyed Peter's bag warily. "Are you planning on giving me a physical?"

"Do you need one?" He asked rhetorically. He placed the listening device on Sylar's chest and instructed, "Breathe." Sylar took a quick breath and he furrowed his brow and clarified, "As deeply as you can." Sylar again inhaled, but it was shallow and barely enough to create the soft 'whoosh' sound he was listening for that indicated movement of air in the lungs. He couldn't mask the look of concern on his face as he removed the stethoscope and snaked it around his neck. "Do you feel a sharp pain where Jessup kicked you when you try to breathe?"

Sylar gently ran his fingers along the red and bruising splotch of skin on his left side. "A little." He begrudgingly admitted. And by a little he meant catastrophic.

"Well, your lungs sound clear for now. When you spit out the blood earlier, was that from your mouth or did you cough it up?" The fact was it sank into the grass so quickly that he didn't get a good look at it. If it was bright red, he likely had an emergency on his hands. Analyzing body fluids may not be appealing, but it could give you some life saving clues and it was an important part of the job.

"I didn't cough up anything." _Right now I think I would die if I tried._

"Isn't that about where Tipton kicked you too?" He asked thoughtfully. "My concern is repeated shots to the same area could have fractured the bone. Not enough for them to break entirely, but you'll be in a lot of pain for awhile."

"Can't you wrap them or something?" He asked miserably.

"Not anymore." He seemed truly remorseful for not being able to do anything about it. "It restricts breathing too much and puts you at risk for pneumonia and you're already barely getting enough air. I've seen asthmatics with better lung capacity." He rifled through his bag and removed a pair of latex gloves. "What I can do is give you some high doses of aspirin to try and kill the pain. If that doesn't work, I can see about trying to get something stronger. But for now, open up." He carefully examined Sylar's mouth, checking for loose teeth and lacerations and found that his lip had been split in two places and his teeth had cut a trench along the inside of his cheek, but it didn't require stitches. "Rinse your mouth out with Listerine a few times a day." He instructed. "You can also suck on ice cubes to keep the swelling down."

"That it?" Sylar asked easing himself back painfully on the bed.

"Almost." Peter responded as he changed his gloves and sat on the edge of the bed next to him with more supplies. "Give me your hand." Sylar looked at him as if to ask if he were joking and Peter raised his eyebrows. "Maria said so." Sylar let an exasperated sigh slip from his swollen lips and he flopped his hand into Peter's lap palm up and closed his eyes to rest. The diminished supply of oxygen in his blood made him sleepy.

Peter gently disinfected the raw and blistered skin on his hands and applied antibiotic ointment before loosely wrapping them with gauze to keep the area sterile. The whole time he was working, he couldn't help but look down at the killer's hands and wonder how many lives were lost by them. His own life hung in the balance of one pointed index finger when Sylar tried to cut his head open in Mohinder's apartment. He had never experienced pain like that before- searing and unrelenting. He noticed that Sylar was being uncharacteristically compliant and relaxed with his treatment and he smiled when he looked up to see his patient fast asleep.

He cleaned up the pile of discarded wrappers and dirty gloves and threw them away in the bathroom. He came back with a glass of water and set it next to the bed with 4 aspirin tablets for him to take when he woke up. He made a mental note to come back and check on him in an hour or so just to be sure that he was still breathing and hadn't developed any complications when he noticed movement at the window. Sitting on the other side was Iago, scratching at the glass as if he were purposely trying to get Peter's attention. He approached the window and smiled as he whispered, "Hey, there. Did you come to see your friend?" He looked back at Sylar peacefully sleeping on the bed and he returned to the cat. "Ok, I'll let you in, but you better not wake him up." He lifted the sash and Iago jumped from the window to the bed in one graceful leap, ignoring Peter entirely. He watched with a faint smile as the cat marched up to Sylar and cautiously sniffed his face to be sure it really was him before curling up in the space between his right side and his elbow. "Alright," Peter said with a stern expression, "you keep an eye on him until I get back, ok?" Iago yawned and laid his head on Sylar's slowly rising chest to nap along with him.


	16. Meds and Mozart

**Chapter 16- Meds and Mozart**

The sun was still fairly low in the Eastern sky when Sylar woke up, blinking against the bright light that streamed through the window. He woke up several times throughout the night when he accidently rolled onto his left side and was shocked awake by the stabbing pain that took his breath away. He knew he wasn't entirely alone as every time he did wake up, Iago was either laying on him or next to him and the pile of aspirin was magically replenished as was the water to wash it down with. It bothered him a little that Peter was intermittently slipping in and out of his room unnoticed, but what he didn't know was that it wasn't always Peter: Mohinder volunteered to take the night shift to give him time to rest himself, but they mutually agreed not to tell Sylar that.

He winced and bared his teeth as he struggled to sit up and swing his long legs over the edge of the bed. The pain rose in pitch and he could do nothing but take fast, shallow breaths until it passed. The aspirin helped some, but he had taken so much of it on an empty stomach he felt sick and although he desperately wanted relief from the pain, the thought of taking more seemed worse. He simply couldn't imagine vomiting with his ribs as they were; he would probably pass out from the pain and drown in the toilet. That was hardly the way he imagined himself going; only Elvis could pull off dying on a toilet and still seem cool.

While he waited for a good moment to try to stand up, he looked down at his gauze wrapped hands and it reminded him of a boxer. He certainly felt like he was in a fight just to breathe properly. He unwrapped his hands and flexed them slowly. Whatever Peter put on them helped greatly, they were hardly sore but he wasn't sure if that was because they were actually healing or if it was the fact that his brain was just to occupied with the agony emanating from his ribs to process discomfort from other regions of his body.

He slowly stood up and made the effort to shimmy out of the jeans he had been wearing for well over a day and took his time in the shower, partly because he had to and partly because he had nothing else to do. He knew there was no way Maria was going to let him do any work, so he planned on spending his day reading the book she loaned him and perhaps trying to get the blood out of his shirt for lack of anything better to do. He never imagined he would actually want to work, but he felt bored and generally lacking direction if he didn't have a distinct purpose.

Beyond the indignity of his injury, Arthur unwittingly further handicapped him by making his left hand- his dominant one- more or less useless because he couldn't lift his arm very far without stretching the muscles in his side. It was a lucky coincidence for him since only approximately 10% of the population was left handed. All was well so long as he could manipulate things at waist level, but it made tasks like washing his hair or putting on a shirt exceedingly difficult and it just gave him more reason to hate him. It wasn't lost on him that the Latin word for left was 'sinistra' or in modern English, 'sinister.' It seems he was marked from birth- an evil angel indeed and at least in the case of Arthur, he was determined to fulfill his destiny come Hell or high water.

He went to the kitchen to make some breakfast since he was fairly sure no one else was up yet. He was surprised then to see Mohinder sitting at the table holding a cup of coffee with both hands and his eyes were bloodshot. He paused by the refrigerator and took in the sight. "You look like you've been up all night." He mused. "Let me guess, a 3am muffin emergency?"

Mohinder took a sip of his steaming coffee and sidestepped the query. "I guess I just didn't sleep much last night." Sylar opened the refrigerator and stared into it for something suitable to eat. He didn't want anything too heavy or rich, but not too sweet either. And nothing greasy. Breakfast food seemed to fit into all of the above and he closed the door with a sigh. "Can I make you something?" Mohinder offered.

"No." He hoped his loudly rumbling stomach didn't give him away. He poured himself a cup of coffee even though he knew it probably wasn't the best idea and mixed in cream and sugar. It wasn't a latte, but it would do.

"It is my job, you know." He shrugged. "It isn't as though I'd be going out of my way."

"You aren't my mother." He snarked while he made himself some toast. Add some peanut butter for protein and it was a fairly safe bet. "I am fully capable of looking after myself."

_I'm grateful because we all know what you did to her._ Mohinder raised his eyebrows at being put into his place, but he assumed that at least part of his bitchiness was due to pain and that reminded him. "Oh, _Peter_ left you another dose of aspirin." He reached across the table and shook the bottle of pills. The truth was, Sylar woke up before he could put it in his room so he thought it best to pin it on Peter.

Sylar took a bite of his toast and regarded the bottle. He shook his head 'no' until he could swallow before speaking. It was rude to talk with your mouth full and the gooey peanut butter took some effort to get rid of. "I don't want anymore."

Mohinder looked surprised as he set the bottle down. "Do you no longer need them, or are they not working?" Sylar accidently dropped the knife he was using to spread the peanut butter on his toast and it fell with a rattling clang- sticky side down of course. He bent to pick it up, but paused halfway to stop reaching with his left and use his right hand. It was just habit and although he was able to keep from grimacing, Mohinder noticed the way his eye twitched and his face went pale. "I see." He said quietly. "Just leave it, Sylar. I'll clean it up."

Sylar grabbed the knife and dropped it in the sink irritated. "I'll do it, Mohinder. I'd appreciate it if you didn't treat me like an amputee. I don't need your pity or help."

"Suit yourself."

"I always have." He retorted while he slowly lowered himself into a squatting position to clean the mess he made on the floor. It seemed his luck had run out. Every time he faced serious physical ailments, say being run through with a sword, he was fortunate enough to wake up to beautiful women who cared for him and nursed him back to health- until he was strong enough to kill them, but that was beside the point. But now all he had was Peter and Mohinder and neither of them were really his type. He didn't even have Claire's perfume to fantasize about anymore although he knew if she were there she'd have gone to town on him with a baseball bat while he couldn't really defend himself for the misperceived injustice of him taking her power. He didn't understand why she was so angry; he didn't kill her. He could have done so much more to her, but he chose not to and she failed to be grateful for his sense of propriety. Ok, truthfully, she was way too immature for him so it never even crossed his mind to go there with her, but perhaps she thought of him as a rapist and that disturbed him.

He finished his coffee and spent the rest of the morning in his room, listlessly flipping through the pages of Maria's book at his desk. Sitting seemed moderately better than laying down, but his back was getting sore from being in one position and honestly, the book didn't hold any information he didn't already know. It was filled with charts and diagrams of simple machines and measurement conversions, fairly entry level information. He stood up to gently stretch as much as he could yet again, and he eyed his jeans still laying on the floor where he left them earlier in the day.

He removed the remote and chip from his front pocket where he stashed them before the raid the day prior and he sat at his desk, looking them over. The chip looked like any other silicone based circuit board he'd seen before except the circuits and protruding prongs that attached to the spinal cord were made of gold- good for conductance, yet inert enough not to cause an allergic reaction in the body. He turned it over to look at the underside and beyond the blood stained prongs that still held onto bits of flesh was the registration: USDA Reg#74532. He shook his head in dismay. He couldn't believe that the chip program was run by the Department of Agriculture- they were seen on the same plane as livestock and crops. He turned his attention to the remote and with the push of a button it came to life.

/Gray, Gabriel- 11537/active

/Wong, Fann- 74532/active

- System Update-

/Masahashi, Ando- 84736/proximity/fail

/Nakamura, Hiro- 52836/proximity/fail

/Parkman, Matt- 65762/proximity/fail

/Petrelli, Peter- 55738/proximity/fail

/Suresh, Mohinder- 25394/proximity/fail

Activate all?

A smile spread across his lips as he, if only for a second, fantasized about selecting 'yes' for 'activate all' and sending a shock to them all- especially Peter. No matter the immense satisfaction it would give him, he knew it would give him away and as it was they all thought he was innocent of the theft- that was a very valuable card to hold and he saw no sense in wasting it. He noted that his chip was the only one that was active aside from the dead girls, so Maria wasn't lying. He selected his name from the list and read the information it contained. It was spotty at best and inaccurate otherwise, but that was to his advantage. They only had his telekinesis listed; they didn't know about his other abilities but he thought they did…

Immediately after his capture, things got a little hazy. He had only vague flashes of scenes or conversations that melded into one another so as to be at times completely incoherent. What he did remember was repeated rounds of testing in a very dark room. He remembered the injections, the sickness, screaming and a man's bloody face. He may have been the cause of that, but he wasn't entirely sure. He remembered the hushed voices whisper about how much money they could get for him. Yes, he was valuable- collectors would want him. Was he really as powerful as they heard? Let's see if he can really regenerate…and more pain. When the fog finally lifted enough for him to be aware of his surroundings, he was hanging by his wrists in Tipton's tent and the back of his neck stung.

He hid the remote and chip under the front cover of the open book and held his head in his hands. He didn't fully remember what they did to him and maybe it was better that way, but he would be damned if he was going to live his life like a tagged steer. His finger traced the length of the vertical scar that ran down his spinal column and it only hardened his resolve to make them all pay for what they did to him. He looked up sharply when he heard a soft knock at the door. "Gabriel?" Maria called quietly. He painfully stretched across the desk to twist the doorknob and let the door swing open a fraction of an inch.

She timidly pushed it open to see him trying to settle back into his chair and she felt guilty for making him get up, but she didn't want to just open the door in case he was sleeping or indecent. "How are you feeling?"

"It will be fine." He replied shifting slightly.

"I know it will eventually," she smiled at his effort to evade the question, "but how are you at this moment?"

He looked down at his desk. He didn't know why she was pushing him to admit what should have been obvious. "I…I'm.."

She put her hand up for him to stop. "Ok, tough guy. I get it." She removed a bottle of pills from her pocket and set them on the desk in front of him. "Lucky for you, Peter is able to be a bit more honest about situations like these."

He picked up the bottle and read the label. "Vicodin." He flicked his eyes to her and said, "This was prescribed to you."

"It was," she nodded, "but for about 10 minutes this morning I was a 6'1" 140 pound man so the dosage is correct." When he appeared to be confused, she elaborated. "I have a friend who is a doctor and he gives me medicine for all kinds of problems. I can't tell you how many sinus infections and falls I've had this year."

He set the bottle down on the table and smirked. "So he gives you medicine for conditions you don't have in order to get drugs for your slaves."

She seemed to flinch at the word 'slave', but agreed. "It's the best we can do in the system we're in. He can't treat you at the risk of losing his license. The government was very clear about that."

"So much for 'do no harm' right?" He seemed just as angry about it all as she was.

"Well, from their perspective, no harm is done if no action is taken." She sighed and hung her head. Sometimes it all seemed so hopeless. "Anyway, I hope you're not allergic to anything. If you notice anything odd, tell Peter right away."

He picked up the bottle again and tilted it sideways to read the warning stickers. "Take with food or milk and it says I'm not supposed to operate heavy machinery until I know how this medicine will affect me."

"I'll tell Peter to cancel your job of flying the private jet to Fiji tonight." She laughed before becoming more solemn. "Seriously though, Gabriel, I hope it helps."

He gave a small nod and muttered, "Thanks, Maria."

"Don't thank me, thank Peter. He's the one that told me aspirin wasn't quite cutting it for you." Sylar tilted his head slightly. He never spoke to Peter…_Mohinder_. "I stopped by on the way home from the pharmacy and got something else for you." She beamed as she produced a small, leather wrapped bundle from behind her back.

"What's this?" He asked smiling as he unwrapped it.

"A set of tools. Hopefully you have what you need there. I got them from a jeweler that was going out of business." She removed the watch from her wrist and set it on his open book. "Please don't feel as though you have to fix it right away. In fact, I'd prefer you not. I mean…"

She was flustered and he found it amusing. He glanced up at her with a shy smile while he twirled a small screwdriver in his fingers. "I'm not on life support, Maria. Watch repair isn't a full contact activity and truthfully, I'm thankful for something useful to do."

"Of course." She didn't want to appear not to care about his well being, but she didn't want to seem overly concerned either- but it looked like all she had done was make a nice mess of things. "Do you have everything you need?"

He looked over his toolkit and it seemed suitable. "Just one thing," he smiled grandly, "I do my best work with Mozart."

"Consider it done." She declared. "I have an XM satellite radio you can use."

"Perfect." After she shut the door and he was sure he wasn't going to be interrupted again, he slid his hand under the cover of the book and used the screwdriver to open the case. Maybe his luck had changed after all.


	17. Darkness Falls

**Chapter 17- Darkness Falls**

Peter dropped off the radio Maria had promised Sylar and he couldn't help but laugh. He found the watchmaker sitting at his desk with a screwdriver poised in midair and Maria's watch in his right hand, but he was staring blankly into eternity and barely moved when he entered.

"You ok, there?" He asked chuckling while he plugged in the radio and tuned it to a classical station. When he got no response, he approached the desk and spotted the medicine bottle. "Oh." He nodded. "Vicodin. Pretty heavy stuff." Sylar managed to shift his attention to Peter, but it was clear that he was in a deep, drug induced haze. His face was absolutely blank and his movements were very slow. "You didn't take too many, did you?" Peter asked worried. "You probably haven't had to take medicine in a long time, and I doubt you've taken anything this potent." He opened the bottle and spilled the contents into his hand so he could count them. "Nope, looks like you only took one so far." He replaced the pills, set the bottle by the bed, and returned to take the screwdriver from his hand and put it down. "If there's a bright side to not having our healing ability, it's that now we can get drunk and in your case, high. C'mon," he encouraged, coaxing Sylar from his chair to the bed, "I think you'll be safer over here. We don't want you falling out and putting the screwdriver through your eye. There's no fixing that." Sylar didn't resist in the slightest and once he was in the prone position on his bed, his eyes drifted shut. "Yeah, thought so." Peter smiled. His time as a nurse taught him that sometimes people on heavy painkillers get into locked states, being tired but not realizing that action needs to be taken to get to bed, so they just sit in a foggy limbo. He always thought that the term 'painkiller' was a misnomer since the drugs did nothing to actually end the pain, they just made your brain so sluggish that you no longer cared about what ailed you. Whatever the case may be, it seemed to be working quite well for Sylar and that was the whole point. He turned the volume on the radio down so the music played softly and he took leave.

"Mohinder," he paused as he passed through the kitchen, "hey, thanks for staying up to keep an eye on him last night."

Mohinder was just cleaning up from lunch, but he looked beat. Nonetheless, he wore a gracious smile. "No problem, Peter. As agreed, dinner will be your responsibility tonight."

"Done." He smiled, patting the geneticist on the back. "I'm not much of a cook, but I think I can open a box of pasta, boil water, and open jars of sauce. Nothing fancy."

"I'm sure the others won't mind, but none for me, thanks. I plan on going to bed quite early tonight. So," he said lowering his voice a bit, "how is he faring?"

"Sylar?" Peter asked looking back at the killer's door. "He's flying, pretty much stoned out of his mind. I don't think he's feeling much of anything right now." The absolutely blank look on his face still cracked him up. "Thanks for the heads up."

"My pleasure." He mumbled. He didn't like Sylar, that was no secret and if the madman wanted to suffer it was his business and he probably deserved it. But as his temporary guardian for the night it was his responsibility to alert Peter to any issues that might arise and it was this sense of duty that led him to report the inadequacy of the aspirin. He had spent the better part of the day convincing himself it was nothing more than that.

Peter continued on to the main house where Maria asked to meet with him. _I probably forgot that damn expense report she asked me to get a few days ago. _He found her in the library and took a seat at her direction. "Gabriel's doing better." He automatically reported. "I think the meds are working. He's sleeping right now, but he didn't seem to be in pain when I was there."

"Good." She replied half-heartedly. "I'm glad to hear he's getting some relief, but that's not why I asked you to come."

There was something desperate in her tone that made him sit up in his chair. "Then why did you need me?"

"I'm kind of in a situation here." She admitted. "I told Jessup that we searched Gabriel's room and he didn't have his missing remote. I also told him I wouldn't be loaning him anymore staff either and he went off."

As she was talking, he noticed a red mark by her cheek and he felt his blood boil. "Maria, did he hit you?" He asked through almost clenched teeth.

"Yes, but it was an accident." She said putting her hands out in a pleading gesture for him to keep calm. "It's not important. Look, here's my problem: either I loan him someone knowing that he'll take out his anger on them or I have to deplete the payroll so I can honestly say I don't have anyone to spare."

Peter sat back in his chair. "Who?"

"I was thinking Hiro and Ando."

"You can't." He said flatly. "You just sent Claire North not long ago so it's too soon- forget about sending two people!"

"I know, but those two are best friends- inseparable- I can't split them up."

He sighed and again leaned forward in his chair. "You know if you do this, you'll have to get Noah to help. He's the only one that can cover your tracks from that side."

"He owes me." She shrugged.

"And if you play that card he'll do it." He agreed. "But is that the way you want to do it? Favors from him don't come cheap. If I were you, I'd hold onto that one until you really, really need it. If you ever find yourself in so deep that you need him, at that point he may be the only one that can help you anyway." He thought it over for a minute and shook his head. "It's too risky. If Jessup wants someone, I'll go."

"No you won't." She declared.

"Maria, be rational about this." He pleaded. "It's too dangerous for you to send Hiro _and_ Ando." He looked her square in the eye and continued. "I've spent enough time playing nurse for those that have gone over there to know what to expect. I know what I'm getting into."

"No." She held firm.

He shook his head, baffled by her stubbornness. Usually she was logical, but he just didn't understand it. "Why?"

She looked down at the floor and her voice trembled. "Who will play nurse for you? I can't, Peter." She glanced at him and her eyes were full of misery. "I couldn't see you like that. Not you."

"Maria…" he sat stunned in his chair. He couldn't believe he was so blind.

"Peter, through everything you have been the only constant. I would have given up long ago, but you have always held hope for me when I couldn't do it myself. You sat up with me every night for almost a month and listened to me cry after Bryant died. You make this entire place run and never once have you asked me for anything in return, but now you ask me to sacrifice you for my own protection?" She slowly shook her head and sadly smiled. "I can't. I won't. I promised Nathan I would watch over you and at first I was just trying to keep my promise, but since then you have earned a special place in my heart as a brother I've never had and that's no way to treat your family." She quietly added, "I see now why he thinks the world of you. He was right; you are special beyond your abilities."

Peter blushed slightly and smiled. "Well, I guess I've never had a sister, so this will be new for both of us. I guess I should be thankful that we're both a little too old for you to put make-up on me and have tea parties with stuffed animals."

"Is that how it goes?" She asked laughing. "I have no idea. I was an only child. What's growing up with a brother like?"

"A lot of wrestling." He chuckled. "But it was no fair because he was so much older and bigger than me. But his being older meant that I got a sneak peek at his girlie mags, so I think I was the only second grader that knew what a vagina was." They both broke out into laughter and he went on while he wiped tears from his eyes. "I so wasn't ready for that. I remember there was a Venus flytrap in our classroom and I had to sit by it. Every time I looked at it, it reminded me of the picture I saw. I think I cried at school for a week after that. The school called my Ma, but of course I couldn't tell her why I was upset because I knew Nathan would kill me."

"And yet you grew up to be a well adjusted adult despite the trauma." She grinned. "Unless you're still afraid of vaginas."

His face flushed a deep red and he nervously laughed. "No, I've come to terms with them."

"Sorry," she giggled, "I just couldn't pass it up. I promise I won't put you on the spot like that again."

"It's ok. Siblings are supposed to tease each other." He shrugged casually. "It builds character. At least that's what Nathan used to tell me." His smile faded and he grew serious. "So what are you going to do, then?"

"I will be making some phone calls. I figure I can make it less conspicuous if I sell one directly to a friend up the ladder and it will be taking a chance, but I will have to trade the other back to Tipton so another friend can buy him and they can meet up again later once they get far enough away." She schemed.

Peter knew that 'friends' were other owners that were sympathetic to the cause that all worked together to form the 'ladder' or route North to Canada. Sometimes slaves were traded back and forth depending on who had space and who had enough money to provide for them, but the goal was always freedom even if it was sometimes one step forward and two steps back. While not all 'friends' were as well off as Maria, they all had the best interest of specials in mind and did the best they could to get them to safety. It was a delicate dance of perception, persuasion, and politics and one had to be careful not to trade too often. Maria had just sold Claire to a friend and immediately bought Sylar. Now, a week later she was going to sell two more? High turnover like that tended to arouse suspicion among other owners. "You might need Noah on this one after all."

"Excuse me," Hiro entered quickly bowing with a worried expression on his face, "sorry for interrupting. Peter, Mohinder needs you. It's Sylar."

Peter jumped up and sprinted as fast as he could go, his mind racing through potential medical emergencies and solutions all the while until he came to a halt at Sylar's door, panting lightly and looking to Mohinder for a status report. "I just heard him," Mohinder explained trying to calmly slow Peter's adrenaline rush, "it sounded as if he were in pain, he was moaning and so forth. I noticed it was about time for his next dose, so I opened the door but he was asleep."

Peter narrowed his eyes. "So you called me over here because he makes noise when sleeps?"

"It wasn't like he was snoring!" Mohinder protested. "This was entirely different. It was.." He was cut off by what sounded like a pitiful whimper.

Peter carefully opened the door just enough to observe Sylar twitching and sweating. Concerned it could be some kind of reaction to the painkiller, he entered the room and noted that his breathing was a little fast, but stable and there were no rashes or any of the other usual signs of allergic reaction. He gently placed his fingers on the inside of Sylar's wrist to take his pulse and found it to be much higher than it should be for a sleeping person. In fact, if he had to look at it on paper and guess what activity the person was doing at the time he might have guessed running. He looked back at Mohinder and whispered, "I think he's just having a nightmare. Narcotics can sometimes make dreams very vivid."

"Please…" Sylar moaned. "No…"

Mohinder looked distressed. "Shouldn't we try to wake him?"

"Nightmares won't kill you. It's just a myth." He replied. "If we let him wake up on his own he might not even remember it."

Maria appeared next to Mohinder looking just as concerned. "What's wrong?" She asked. "Is he ok?"

"He's apparently just having a nightmare." Mohinder explained. "And Peter feels it's humane to allow him to continue."

"I didn't say that!" Peter hissed. "I'm just saying there's no medical reason that we have to wake him up." His explanation did little to ease the concerns of the onlookers and it only got worse when Sylar's occasional cries were accompanied by actual tears.

"For God's sake, Peter, wake him up." Maria implored. "He's not having a nightmare, that's sheer terror."

"Fine." He acquiesced. "But you all have to leave. The last thing he'll want is to wake up to an audience." When he was alone with the frightened man, he squatted by the bed and gently shook his shoulder. "Sylar," he spoke softly, "wake up. You're having a bad dream." He continued to jostle him until his dark eyes flew open. "Hey, are you ok?" He asked.

Sylar's eyes went from being wide with fear to being hardened like obsidian. "Get out." He commanded in a shaky voice.

Peter put his hands up. "Ok." He was obviously rattled about something, but he knew he wouldn't want to talk about it.

After the door closed, Sylar covered his face with his hands and sighed. He willed his heart to stop pounding in his chest and he wiped the tears from his eyes. He now knew what happened to him after he was captured and although the medicine dulled the pain in his side, it unleashed an entirely different sort of pain- one that he could see and feel in disturbing detail every time he closed his eyes. Deep down he knew the memories were always there, hovering like ghosts in the deep recesses of his mind, but now he was forced to face his fears and what he could never admit to anyone much less himself was that he was terrified of the dark.

Despite his best effort to regain control, he felt a fresh swell of anxiety overtake him and the hot tears flowed past his temples and soaked into his dark hair. _They will pay for what they did. I'll kill them all and I won't look back._


	18. Metamorphosis

**Chapter 18- Metamorphosis **

The next morning, Sylar sat at his desk with his eyes at half mast, slightly red and swollen. It wasn't because of the medication, he hadn't taken anymore since the day before and although the pain in his side had returned, he was becoming adept at simply ignoring it for the most part. He yawned and rubbed his unshaven cheeks vigorously, the hairs felt like sandpaper on his palms. He stayed up all night under the pretense of investigating the inner workings of the remote, but in reality, he was afraid of falling asleep again after the horrible experience he had.

He glanced at the bottle still sitting by the bed where Peter left it. He didn't care for the pervasive cognitive haze it made him feel and certainly not the vivid dreams it caused, but it did work wonders for dulling pain and despite the bad dream it was the deepest sleep he ever experienced. He wondered if he could get by with only taking half a pill at a time. He knew that staying up forever wasn't an option, but neither was having an IQ of 15- especially not him.

He narrowly escaped detection when Peter found him and it was sheer luck that he put the remote back under the book until he found a small enough screwdriver to open the case. He picked up Maria's watch to move it and that's when he forgot exactly what the hell he was doing for who knew how long before Peter walked in. It wasn't simply that he forgot, he didn't even realize that he was in the middle of doing anything. If he had to describe the feeling to anyone, the word numb would have covered it- completely, entirely, and wholly lacking any sense of motivation or existence. It was what he imagined the intellectual ability of an amoeba to be: reactionary only and then just barely. He simply couldn't afford to be so sloppy because his very freedom depended on his ability to think clearly and remember what had been said and done, but he now realized the merit of some addictions: the ability to just simply check out of the world could be appealing depending on the circumstances.

He retrieved the bottle and used the tools Maria bought him to begin cutting the tablets in half. Perhaps if he took them long enough, his body would become accustomed to it and the side effects would diminish, but he didn't have time for that. If he could at least take the edge off the pain without becoming too disoriented, he would consider it a success. He made some headway during the night in figuring out how the chip worked, now he just had to map the circuits in order to find the weak link that could be manipulated and perhaps he could be relaxing in a chalet in British Columbia by the end of next week…

0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0

Mohinder looked rested, but a nervous tension permeated the lines in his face. Peter didn't even try to hide his concern, but he was never really any good at that anyway. He knew he was more or less an open book and for the most part he was fine with that. He stood at the ready, arms folded across his chest and his medical supplies within easy reach should he need them.

"It's ok to have second thoughts." Maria said softly. "No one would blame you if you changed your mind."

Mohinder let his head fall back on the stainless steel table in the center of her lab that was serving as a makeshift gurney. He looked up into the harsh glare of the halogen lights and swallowed. "I have to do this." He reiterated. "I am not the first in the history of science to be in this position and without test subjects, medicine would never have progressed."

"Maria," Peter called with a worried expression, "what kind of safety precautions do we have?"

"What do you mean?" She hated to think that she neglected an important step.

"Well, what if the serum works enough to give him his power back, but there are complications like a seizure or something. He will be crazy strong and he could easily kill me by accident if he threw me into a wall or something."

"I wouldn't intentionally hurt you, Peter." Mohinder smiled.

Peter returned the friendly gesture. "Yeah, but in that situation it's not like you'll be in control of what you're doing and I'm not going to risk losing my life trying to save yours."

"Yes you would!" Mohinder laughed. "We all know you would."

"Whatever." He chuckled. He knew he'd been called out. "That's a different conversation."

"Do you have super strength in your bag of tricks?" Maria asked Peter. "Maybe for this experiment you should get your powers back first just in case you need them."

"I don't have that one, but at least I could heal and as a last resort I could always just copy his although I don't really want to get into a fight like that. Ok, give me the shot, but after this is all over, I want to go back." He grumbled.

Mohinder watched with curiosity as Peter injected himself. He didn't notice any adverse reactions which gave him a little more confidence, but he was still cautiously optimistic because he knew his physiology was not like Peter's and there could still be some unknown cards in the deck. When Peter was able to vanish and reappear at will, he approached Mohinder with the syringe that contained his destiny. As he swabbed his elbow with alcohol and tied a length of tubing around his bicep to make the veins in his arm surface, he casually stated, "Last chance. You can still back out and I won't think any less of you."

"No," Mohinder declared calmly trying to ignore the stinging smell of the alcohol, "I am ready."

There was only a slight pinch as Peter expertly slid the needle into a protruding vessel and released the tubing before slowly emptying the contents of the syringe into his bloodstream. He recapped the used needle and watched carefully for any change that might indicate trouble.

At first, Mohinder felt nothing. Peter could have injected him with water for all he knew because everything felt as it always had- his heart ticked away at a steady pace, his lungs expanded and contracted, his muscles felt relaxed, and his nerves were still reporting the same pressure and temperature sensations as they had before the injection. "That's odd," he noted as he blinked against the bright lights above, "I'm not experiencing anything. Why would it work for Peter and not on a similar mechanism within…"

He suddenly stopped and Peter tensed up. "Mohinder?" He called leaning over him. "Talk to me. What's wrong?"

Mohinder heard him, but he was suddenly consumed by full body cramps that made him reflexively curl into the fetal position with a grimace. "Arggghh." He growled through clenched teeth. "It's working now." A small desperate smile failed to ease Peter's concerns, but he pushed away any attempts at help. He knew he wasn't in danger, his muscles were just reacclimating to their previous levels in order to work with greater efficiency, and that meant a little rewiring of the fast and slow twitch fibers. The end result would be greater strength and stamina without the bulk of extra fibers swelling the muscle, but in the short term it meant feeling like every muscle in his body had been pulled.

When the cramps eased enough for him to straighten and lay on his back, Maria cautiously approached him, keeping in mind the possibility of Peter's scenario of being thrown like a ragdoll. Unlike Peter, she couldn't recover from such an accident. "Mohinder," she placed her hand lightly on his wrist, "how do you feel?"

He chuckled and the mirth in his eyes gave her some relief. "Fantastic. A little sore, but I forgot what it felt like, it has been so long."

"I know what you mean." Peter nodded with a smile. "It does feel a little weird. Can you sit up?"

With Peter's help, he managed to get upright but it was a struggle. "I'm sorry," he apologized a bit embarrassed but his inability, "but it feels a bit like I've been in an auto accident. The irony of my weakness despite my ability is not lost on me."

"It's ok, Mohinder. You were very brave to try out the serum. Perhaps you should just rest and we can do full scale testing later." Maria suggested. She was greatly relieved because she was honestly expecting the worst, but she was glad to see that he had made it through mostly intact. She just hoped things stayed that way. "You can stay here if you like. I don't see you walking all the way back to the quarters."

"I can take him." Peter offered. "No walking needed."

"But how.." She started and he tilted his head and smirked as though she should have known better. "Right. I forgot." She nodded. "You can teleport."

He helped his patient off the table and closed his eyes to picture them in Mohinder's room and when he opened his eyes, they were. No matter how many times he did it, it still amazed him. "So." he smiled while Mohinder ingloriously plopped down on his bed. A controlled descent was just too much to ask. "Is it just like a body ache or.."

"More or less." He confirmed. "Really, Peter, it's nothing to worry about. I will be fine."

"Ok. Take some aspirin, or you can bum some heavier stuff from Sylar if you get desperate." He laughed.

"I would rather suffer than engage in some black market drug deal with the likes of him." He looked up at Peter with a serious expression. "What will we tell him?"

"About what?" Peter asked quizzically. "I don't think he knows about the project."

"Perhaps not, but even without his aptitude he seems to possess a sixth sense of sorts. He will naturally be curious as to what happened to me and I can't very well say I had a cooking accident."

Peter bit his lip and contemplated the dilemma. He had a point that Sylar would smell blood in the water and once his curiosity was sparked he wouldn't stop until he had answers, and that could be the end of them all. "I'll just tell him you're sick if he asks." He shrugged. "And you are…kind of. But whatever we tell him, we have to make sure Maria doesn't tell him about the project."

Mohinder's face went slack with shock. "Peter, you haven't told her yet, have you?" He asked in awe. "About Sylar?"

He hung his head and sighed. "Not exactly."

"For the love of God, Peter!" He exclaimed wide eyed. "When were you planning on discussing it with her? After he's slaughtered every living thing and left this place nothing but a smoldering pile of ash? You know as well as I that if he gets his powers back, and he will at any cost, he will be unstoppable. He cares for no one but himself and so long as his own twisted agenda is the priority, the rest of us are damned."

Peter shook his head and frowned. "I think you're wrong, Mohinder. He isn't the same man he was back then. I can't explain it, but there's something different about him. I'm not saying he's a hero now, but over the last few days I've seen a side of him I don't think anyone has."

"I thought I had too." He said quietly. "When I was traveling with him in the early days, he was a different man. Incredibly charming and very likeable, but it's just a mask he wears to suit his purpose, Peter. Psychologists have a term for people like him; social chameleons- people who change to suit their environment on demand. The truth is, there's nothing but an evil smirk behind the mask but you won't see it until it's too late."

"I thought you were going to say schizoid- lack of interest in social relationships, emotional coldness, etc." He huffed.

"Well, that shoe would fit just as well if not better." He paused and licked his lips. "Peter, I sincerely hope you are correct that Sylar is perhaps not the man he once was, but I just have reservations about his sincerity and if it proves that I am the one who is correct, we will all pay dearly for it. We all know the lengths to which he will go to seek revenge."

"I'll keep an eye on him." He promised grimly. "I'll assign the cooking to someone else until you feel better."

He left Mohinder and took a seat at the kitchen table. He was tired from the stress he's been under for the past week and now he was a little irritated. He felt like time had gone backwards and he was trying desperately to convince Nathan he could fly all over again. No one believed him then and despite all he'd done and been through, no one was willing to believe him now. He wasn't trying to convince anyone that tomorrow Sylar would be helping old ladies across the street while he carried their groceries, but he was a firm believer in self-fulfilling prophesy. If people kept telling him he was evil and he could never change then he never would. How long did he himself believe that he was indecisive, too sensitive for his own good, and a disappointment to all those that knew him because that's all he heard growing up before he had the courage to follow his convictions? Maybe Sylar never had anyone in his life to encourage him and it sounded like he sought some support but never found it if what he told him at the art gallery was true. Peter refused to believe it was too late and if he was the only one willing to extend a hand to a drowning man then so be it.

Although it wasn't something he routinely did, out of curiosity and perhaps to confirm his own opinion, he tilted his head and listened in on Sylar's thoughts as easily as the radio tuned in the classical music he was listening to.

_The RFID is encased in crystalline silicate and it looks like it's one cohesive layer placed directly on the substrate. Not many logic gates- that's odd. I thought there would be more but I guess it's a simple data system. No need for anything fancy. The capacitor takes up most of the area, but that makes sense. You need a lot of power for it to function the way it was designed._

Peter shook his head and assumed he was studying one the diagrams in the book Maria loaned him. Reading like that would put him to sleep, but to each their own. He got up from the table and headed out to find Matt, Hiro, and Ando in an effort to solicit a volunteer to take kitchen duty.

On the other side of the bedroom door, Sylar meticulously turned the stolen chip in his fingers, fixated on its every detail in an effort to coax its secrets forth.


	19. The Best Laid Plans

**Chapter 19- The Best Laid Plans**

It took some cajoling, but Peter managed to shame Matt into making lunch. He quietly explained to all involved the reason for Mohinder's absence and he extracted oaths one by one that they would not let on in the slightest when talking to Sylar. For once he found himself wishing that the killer would stick to his solitary preferences until it all blew over- it would make his job so much easier, but as if to be purposely contrary he happened to be the first one seated at the table while Matt minded the oven with a dishtowel draped carelessly over his shoulder.

"Where's Mohinder?" He asked suspiciously.

_He doesn't waste any time, does he? _"He's uh…sick." Matt answered while he peeked into the oven to check the progress of his turkey subs. He preferred them toasted and he assumed everyone else did as well. If they didn't, they could all punt as far as he was concerned.

Sylar's eyes darted to Mohinder's door down the hall and Peter felt a pang of anxiety. _Please, for the love of God, just let it go. Don't over think it…just this one time, please!_ He wanted to shout hallelujah when the fatigue that was so apparent in his sluggish demeanor got the better of him and he didn't feel the need to play 20 questions with everyone. It was a rare moment indeed and Peter briefly considered crushing Vicodin and mixing it into his food from that point on if it made him easier to deal with. "So, who's got dinner?" He asked suddenly in a much better mood.

"How about you?" Matt asked half joking. "Doesn't the boss have to punch a timecard too?"

Peter grinned. "I do a lot of work- more than any of you and I cooked last night. Everybody forget that already?"

"If that's what you call it." Sylar winced as he sat back in his chair. "It was one step up from TV dinners, though, I'll give you that."

"Screw you, Sylar." He sighed. "Like you have your own cooking show on TV. Eating brains doesn't count."

Hiro tried to keep it together, but he couldn't help it when a stifled giggle escaped and he covered his mouth too late to stop it. Sylar shot him a fierce glare. "I don't eat brains. That was some sick fantasy of Bennet's and I think it says more about him and those of you that believed him than it does me."

"Then what the hell did you do with them?" Matt asked setting the steaming pan of gooey sandwiches on the stove to cool for a moment. "James Walker, Isaac, and at least two more that the FBI know of. Their brains were all missing."

There was a dark glint in Sylar's eye and he smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know, Parkman? Still upset that you couldn't find me even though I was at the scene? Your pretty partner bumped right into me on the street and yet I just walked away. Must have been infuriating for you, and Ted, I imagine." He leaned forward and shrugged slightly. "Poor Ted, blamed for my misdeeds and all the time you wasted interrogating him allowed me not only to get off scot free, but you even delivered him to my feet for the taking. It was nice of you to think of me."

Peter noted the fire rising in Matt's eyes and he gave him a stern look. "That's enough, Sylar."

Sylar gave a light smile and sat back in his chair again to enjoy the reaction he pulled from the former cop. "Are you going to spit in my food now?"

"Arsenic would serve you right." He mumbled. "A nice, slow, painful death."

"I see." He nodded. "An eye for an eye. I get it."

"No, you don't 'get it', Sylar, that's the problem with you." Matt retorted. "You think there will never be consequences for your actions, that you can just keep being an asshole and everyone will still help you when you need it. Someday, Sylar, none of us will be around the next time you get your ass kicked and you'll deserve it. Karma's a bitch, buddy."

Peter put his hands up to silence them both. "Guys, can we just drop this? All I wanted to know was who was going to make dinner and somehow I ended up with two third graders arguing on the playground." He glanced at Sylar and skimmed his thoughts. _It's not a fair fight when I'm in the advanced class and he's in special ed._ "Sylar," he cautioned, "whatever you're thinking, don't say it." To quickly cover his tracks, he added, "Matt, you either."

"Ando and I will make dinner." Hiro volunteered to ease the tension. He admired Peter for trying to keep the peace, but he couldn't say he disagreed with Matt. Men like Sylar always got their comeuppance, it just seemed to be taking an extraordinarily long time in his case.

"Great." Sylar growled. "Ramen noodles. This just keeps getting better."

"Thanks, Hiro." Peter nodded. "And why don't you dazzle us all with your culinary brilliance for breakfast tomorrow, Sylar?"

He tiled his head slightly, obviously irritated by the directive. "Fine. I was going to volunteer anyway."

"Whatever." Matt grumbled, all but throwing Sylar's sandwich at him. "That means we're all having cereal."

"Now I will spit in your food." Sylar warned.

"Try it." Matt challenged, holding his unflinching stare. "I'll kick your skinny ass and hand it back to you. If a scrappy guy like Peter can take you to school, you _know_ I can." He laughed at the split second hesitation in the killer's eyes. "Uh huh. Who's the big man now?"

"Guys." Peter sighed. "Seriously. Is it too much to ask for you to act your ages?"

"Not your shoe sizes." Ando laughed.

"Not helping." Peter smiled. "Don't make me send you to your rooms without lunch. Jesus, do I really have to be your dads right now?"

"You couldn't be my dad." Sylar glared.

Before he knew it, in frustration he blurted out, "You didn't have a dad!" He immediately regretted it when he saw the flash of betrayal in his eyes- just like he did when he purposely shocked him. "I'm sorry, man. Seriously, I didn't mean it."

"That's obvious." Matt observed with his mouth full. "I'll bet you were a little hellion running around without a man in the house to kick your ass and keep you in line. What happened? Did you kill him too?"

"Matt." Peter snapped. "Not cool. I shouldn't have said it, it was a mistake." He turned back to Sylar to make yet another apology, but he was met with an icy glare and a clenched jaw. Silently, hate pouring from his eyes, he stood up and walked away from the table, leaving a trail of hushed tension behind him well after he disappeared into his room.

"I didn't know he didn't have a father." Ando almost whispered. "That's terrible." His father worked when he was young, but he was still around and he had always considered Kaito as much of a father as Hiro did. He couldn't imagine how difficult it must have been for a boy to grow up without that kind of guidance and influence.

Hiro nodded sadly. "No wonder he seemed so sad when we followed him to his mother's home. She was the only one to care for him."

"And he killed her." Matt added succinctly. When Peter looked at him incredulously, he grew exasperated. "What? He did! I'm sorry, but I'm done giving him a free pass. It's time he owned up to the things he's done. If he didn't want anyone looking down on him, he should have thought about that 50 or so murders ago."

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Noah sat comfortably in Maria's library, taking a moment to take in the massive inventory of books that surrounded him. "It's quite a collection." He complimented with his easy smile. "Have you read all of them?"

"God, no." She laughed as she sat on the other end of the sofa. "They're not all mine. At least half were Bryant's."

His smile faded somewhat. "Maria, I'm very sorry for your loss. I don't know if I ever had the chance to tell you. My missing his funeral wasn't meant to be any indication of his importance. I had…other… obligations. I hope you understand."

"Of course." She nodded. " I know that the two of you sometimes worked closely together in the chip program and I remember the late night calls when there was some emergency or other with the project and he had to take off at the last minute to deal with the crisis. I just assumed that's where you were. I didn't think for one minute that you didn't care about his passing. I am sorry that I asked you to come on such short notice for my emergency, however."

"What kind of emergency?" He asked narrowing his sharp blue eyes. He had been in the business way too long to think that it was some trivial matter that could be solved in 5 minutes. In his line of work, emergency usually equated to pending disaster and the biggest of them all was a current member of her 'staff.'

"You know Arthur Jessup." She slowly started, neatly folding her hands in her lap.

He noted her discomfort and gave a noncommittal, "Uh huh." He was very familiar with the Jessups due to the ongoing fight about the chip design as well as seeing his name associated with the reports of missing and suspicious deaths of his slaves on the chip registration reports that came across his desk on a weekly basis.

"The long and short of it is he's convinced that Gabriel stole a remote from him when I loaned him out and I refused to send him anymore of my staff. He's threatened to make false reports about me to your program in retribution."

He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Problems never could be simple. "Did he steal it?"

"No." She nearly laughed at the implication. "I had his room searched from top to bottom and we didn't find anything."

"Did you search him?" He calmly inquired. It was clear she had no idea who she was dealing with or exactly how clever he could be.

"What?" She asked incredulously. "You mean like they do in prison?" When all she got was an unsympathetic shrug, she shook her head in disgust. "No, I didn't make him submit to a body cavity search. Surely he knows that theft, of a chip remote no less, is a very severe offense."

_If he knows and if he cares are two different things._ "Alright, so it actually is possible," she shot him a defiant look and he hastily added, "no matter how small, that he might have taken it. If he did, then you're right- he has a very dark future ahead of him. Your best bet if he does have it is to find it before Jessup does. That way, you can still keep him even though he still has to face the consequences."

"I couldn't do that." She whispered blanching at the thought. "I couldn't stand there and watch while Jessup gets to string him up and exact his revenge."

"It's the law, Maria." Noah warned. "And I know you don't agree with it and neither do I, but if you fight him on this, you'll blow your cover. Because Gabriel's your property, he can't kill him, but he is entitled to determine the punishment." She let out a despondent sigh that broke his heart. "But let's hope he doesn't have it." He said quietly. "Now, if Jessup were to make a report, what would it likely be for?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted, shaking herself from the potential horror of what the future could hold, "I know he thinks I treat them too well."

"Is there anything he can get hard evidence on?" He pressed. "As an owner it's up to you to what degree you give them the basic necessities. Have you broken any of the rules? Let them leave the property deactivated, secret access to medical care?"

"Not directly." She shrugged. "I've been careful to get prescriptions in my name and Peter's been handling the medical stuff on his own."

"Good." He declared putting his glasses back on. "As long as any reports he makes are just circumstantial, I can get them thrown out before they even get logged so there won't be an investigation."

"Thank you, Noah." She smiled somewhat relieved. "There was one more obstacle."

"There usually is." He affirmed.

"I need to move Hiro and Ando up the ladder." She admitted tensely. She knew he would disapprove.

He regarded her with a dead serious expression. "You know that will trigger an investigation for multiple trades in short succession. You don't have a trader's license; only people like Tipton can get away with things like that."

"I know, but I don't have a choice."

He seemed to understand. "Tell me you can demonstrate a legitimate reason for the trade: financial hardship, moral turpitude on behalf of the slave, distress relief of another owner. Give me something- anything." The helpless look on her face told him she couldn't say it was any of the things that could let the trade go through unnoticed. "Here's what you do," he advised in a low voice, "get me a letter from one of your friends saying that they need to buy one of them to help with some big project for the term of a few months. During that time, there will be an unfortunate accident that will result in their death, which they will report to me directly. I will remove the chip ID from the system and they will be home free. For the other one, you will have to say that they are somehow dangerous and for your own safety you must sell them."

"To Tipton." She guessed.

"Yes, unfortunately." He confirmed. "But I would give another of your friends a heads up so they can be there on the first day of the sale."

"I didn't want to do that to either of them." She lamented. "That allegation will be noted on their chip and that will follow them."

"All the way to Canada." He agreed. "But after that it won't matter. You'll just have to let your friend know that it isn't true. It might be dirty, but you can't play this game and keep your hands clean. What's important is that you play it smart because you are an important link in the chain." He raised his eyebrows to impress his words upon her. "We need you for this to work. If you get caught, the entire house of cards comes tumbling down."


	20. Yearning to be Free

**A/N: Hello to PhyscoBtch who has recently joined us on the journey!**

**Chapter 20- Yearning to be Free**

It wasn't something he would normally do, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. Sylar lay on his stomach with his head resting on his curled arms beneath him staring blankly at the wall- he hadn't moved much since lunch despite the tingling in his arms that was a sure sign of impeded blood flow. He flinched slightly when Iago sniffed his face and his whiskers tickled, but that was well over an hour ago and seeing that the desired affection he sought was not going to be forthcoming, the cat gave up and decided to spend his time elsewhere. He couldn't say he blamed him.

He had the perfect plan, but it wasn't working and it irritated him. He took one and a half pills in the hope that he could just zone out because he just didn't want to deal with being where he was anymore. He purposely lay on his stomach stretched out to make his ribs ache because it gave him something tangible to focus on until the medicine kicked in- he could control it or ignore it, but it was better than ruminating about circumstances he couldn't hope to change. Several hours had passed but he didn't feel much different and he was left in an infuriatingly full state of consciousness and the only time he felt substantial pain was if he took a deep breath or put direct pressure on the fragile bone. The medicine was doing exactly what it was meant to, robbing him of his escape route. Maybe he deserved it.

He always worked hard to project a sense of absolute and unshakeable confidence. Nothing ever got to him, he was a logic machine with a laser like focus- or rather Sylar was. Without his IA he was just Gabriel and he was having to come to terms with that fact. Sure Gabriel was highly intelligent, some might say a genius, but despite all he had learned about the world as Sylar he couldn't back up his bravado with action the way he used to and bluffing could only get him so far. Suddenly he was forced to reevaluate his place in the grand scheme of things and it was painfully obvious that once again he was insignificant, a nobody, now an item to be owned, or in the case of Emily a shiny new toy to play with and then discard when something else comes along. But he didn't have a say in any of it and it was perhaps this lack of control over his destiny that bothered him most.

All of a sudden, his old life as the invisible watchmaker from Queens seemed desirable again and if he could have it back, he would take it in a second. At least then he could still decide what happened to him on a daily basis- simple things like when and what he would have for lunch, when or if he wanted to work. Hell, he would even move back into the dingy apartment he grew up in with his mother and listen to her go on all day about how special he was while he polished snow globes and took bites of tuna fish sandwiches he didn't want if it meant regaining just a little of his autonomy.

But deep down it was really more than that. Maria did seem to genuinely care about his welfare, but she didn't understand that she, for all her good intentions, was actually holding back the tide of evolution by keeping him like a pet. He didn't hold any particular malice for her except for perhaps providing the means with which to strip him of all that was rightfully his, and no promise of eventual freedom if he played her game would be enough for him to think otherwise. She could give him all of the food and medicine she wanted, but it didn't negate the fact that she was still part of the system- a woman who grew rich of off his oppression and directly benefitted from owning slaves. The fact that he killed her husband was sheer irony, but every minute he spent in her service he considered payment extracted- his time and patience was very valuable.

He blinked slowly and reassured himself that he could again be special. Even though he experienced a few setbacks, with enough determination he could again be the powerful man he was destined to be regardless of what Matt said. He was a grown man and well beyond succumbing to the taunts of a beer swilling flatfoot. God knows he endured more than his fair share of bullying during his school years for being too tall, too thin, wearing glasses, his sense of style, too shy, too smart, not athletic, and the list went on. So Parkman's insults were ineffective at best, but there was something about the physical threat of violence that rang true. It was as if he was itching to take out all of his frustrations on him- he seemed to want to right every injustice suffered by anyone he ever knew because he was certain he found a target that couldn't fight back.

If he was realistic, he knew that although he would do his best to take it like a man and perhaps even get a few good shots in, the end result would be a lot of lost blood and wounded pride. Parkman was right that he didn't have a father to inflict physical punishment on him while he was growing up, but there was no shortage of his peers willing to step in. He had no idea how many times he had to skillfully hide bruises from his mother's prying eyes or explain away aches and pains of particularly vicious attacks as just being tired or late effects from gym class. He knew he wasn't a skilled fighter, but on the occasions that his back was against the wall, say anytime on Level 5 or in Tipton's possession, just when he thought he had endured all he could, a sense of calm defiance would carry him through and he thrived on the pain. It was hard to break a man who simply didn't give a damn about what you did to him and it was true that what didn't kill him made him stronger, but he had been perilously close too many times for his liking.

Parkman could easily be discounted, but it was Peter that surprised him. In many ways, Peter was still a mystery to him- an inexplicable bundle of inconsistencies that defied all attempts of analysis. At first, he thought he was a very simple creature- a bleeding heart willing to sacrifice himself to keep a dog from getting run over in the street. 'Save the cheerleader, save the world' really appealed to him and he dove in headlong, not understanding what it all meant or even having a plan on how he would manage it, but believing wholeheartedly that it was his destiny nonetheless. But as time went on, he began to realize that the paramedic was so much more than the wholesome all American he seemed to be. There was a darker side to him and he liked to think it was because of the taste of having his IA, but there was an undeniable loss of innocence. The once dewy eyed hospice nurse was becoming ever more jaded with each betrayal of those he trusted and although he might be hesitant to admit it, he couldn't possibly still believe that most people had good intentions. Most people were a mixed bag and Peter himself was proof of that. He was still generally a Boy Scout, but episodes like being purposely shocked out of revenge and the way he leaked sensitive personal information when he was frustrated were prime examples of his unpredictable nature.

Not that he fully trusted anyone, but of them all he considered Peter the safest bet, but as of late he didn't know how much he should believe him. Even if he wasn't outright lying, which he didn't think for a minute he could pull off, he was sometimes too generous with his estimations of the intentions of others. Case in point: Noah Bennet. He didn't care what Peter had to say in his defense, personal experience told him to never, under any circumstance not matter how dire or bizarre, to trust the Company man because it only ended one way- him being strapped to a table with what looked like chocolate milk being fed into his nose through a tube. HRG was every bit the manipulative, devious, goal directed, relentless being that he himself was but he could understand why Peter may not share that perspective. Very often, either because of Angela's intervention or because he was willing to play along with their schemes, he was given a free pass. It was Sylar that bore the brunt of Nathan's tactical squads and the experimentation once he was caught for however long they managed to hold him until he escaped and the game would start all over again.

Experimentation. His heart skipped a beat just thinking about it. Like he told Peter at the art gallery, he didn't need to believe a Hell awaited him in the afterlife because he had already experienced it here on Earth. Indescribable and prolonged pain from having his body torn apart and reassembled at a molecular level by the drugs they wanted to test, the Shanti virus that almost killed him, and testing the limits of his endurance as well as his abilities all while he was held immobile by restraints, both chemical and physical, so he couldn't ease his own suffering or protect himself in any way. The rooms were always so cold and he was kept starved of food, dignity, or any human kindness no matter how small and they all wondered why he acted as he did. If they wanted him to beg for mercy or for his life, they were disappointed. The only thing he ever asked for was for them to let him die because there seemed to be no end to the torture, but instead they revived him time and again when he went limp with exhaustion. And they had the nerve to call him a monster…

He turned his head to face the open window and watched intently as Iago paced back and forth across the sill with a mouse hanging from his mouth. He experienced a rush of emotions that ranged from mild disgust that he would bring a dead creature into his room, indifference because it was the natural order of things for cats to eat mice, gratitude for killing disease carrying vermin, and a sense of envy for having the freedom to do what he wanted even if it meant killing. When he had his powers he had the capacity to obtain what he wanted through empathy, but he chose to kill. People mistakenly believed that he killed because he liked it, but in reality it wasn't something he particularly enjoyed; it was simply an expedient means to an end. It was fast, efficient, and the shortest route between points A and B and nothing more.

To his dismay, Iago jumped onto the bed and dropped his meal right by his head with a proud meow. Sylar squinted at the bloodied, furry offering and grumbled, "I appreciate the offer, but I don't think there's enough here for the both of us." He slowly pushed himself up off the bed, hampered by stiff muscles, numb arms, and the throbbing pain in his side to pick up the dead mouse by the tail and toss it out the window. "If that's what you're having, you'll have to eat outside." He went into the bathroom to scrub his hands with soap and hot water and tried not to think about all the potential diseases the mouse could have been carrying. He scoured a little longer than perhaps was necessary just to quell his anxiety and returned to strip the sheets from the bed. With lunch being over, everyone else should have went back to work leaving he and Mohinder the only ones in the quarters until dinner, so it was safe to venture out of his room to drop them into the washer.

On his return, he snagged a granola bar from the kitchen and took another pill before sitting at his desk to again examine his stolen bounty. Now he wasn't so sure his original plan was suitable. With his situation growing more dire with Matt's threats and Peter's questionable judgment, he didn't know if he had time to figure out the chip system enough to make a clean getaway. As a rule, he preferred to have concrete plans of action, or at least be able to predict the outcome of various solutions to a problem, but perhaps it was time to take a page from Peter's playbook and take a leap of faith.

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Ando bounced his leg nervously, but he couldn't help it. It just seemed so…ominous…to be called to Maria's library, even if it was with Hiro. It just seemed like being called to the principal's office and he wondered what he did wrong. The whole time he'd worked for Maria, he had never been in trouble to any appreciable extent until now and it didn't help that Peter was standing behind them with his arms folded across his chest like a bouncer at a nightclub. He had a scowl on his face ever since lunch, but as far as Ando was concerned, he had nothing to do with the argument that took place at the table. He wasn't the one that pissed Sylar off and he aimed to keep it that way because even without his powers he still scared the hell out of him. Ando always felt that he would try to cut his head open with a butter knife if he had to just to prove a point, so he thought it best to just leave him alone as much as possible and not provoke him.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Maria announced as she breezed into the room, "I just got off the phone and after some negotiation, I have good news."

"What good news?" Hiro asked politely. He had no idea what her personal phone conversations had to do with them or why Peter seemed determined to keep them from leaving the room, but he was willing to play along.

She smiled grandly and said, "Congratulations, gentlemen. You will be meeting my Aunt Candy soon."

Hiro and Ando looked at one another with joy and surprise until Hiro thrust his fists in the air with a triumphant "YATTA!" Even Peter's scowl twisted into his more familiar lopsided smile because although he still wasn't sold on the idea, he couldn't help but be happy for them.

"However," she sighed, "there are some unpleasant details that need to be addressed."

"Like what?" Ando asked, his smile slowly fading.

"I know the two of you are best friends and I did the best I could, but to make this work I have to temporarily split you up. If the arrangement works as planned, you'll meet up again in a week or so once you get further North."

"If that's the way it must be, we accept it." Hiro bowed slightly before turning to Ando. "I will miss you, but it is for the best." Ando nodded in agreement.

"That's not all, though." She added. "I am sorry to have to do this, but I assure you it's the only way possible." She paused to look each of them in the eye. "One of you will be going directly to a friend in Minnesota to help build a dam, but you will die in an explosion days after you arrive."

Any previous excitement turned to confusion and Peter slapped them both on the shoulders. "Not literally, but as far as the government's concerned, that's what will happen. Once you're reported dead, your chip ID is removed from the system and you're home free."

"But the other will be sold back to Tipton and it will be because you have become a violent alcoholic." She noted the look of discomfort in their eyes and she agreed. "I know, I know- not glamorous. And I also know it will become part of your permanent record, but I have it timed so that whichever of you goes will only be in Tipton's possession for a day or so. Another of my friends knows you will be for sale and has agreed to buy you knowing that the allegation isn't true. They also promised to pass that little fact on until you get across the border."

"So which of us goes to Minnesota and which goes to the trader?" Ando asked apprehensively.

"Maria and I discussed it, and we think that it might be better if Hiro goes to build the dam." Peter answered. "Ando, we know that the idea of being sold to Tipton might be a little scary, but of the two of you, I think you would be the most convincing. Just remember not to get on his bad side while you're there. It's only going to be for a day, so keep quiet and you should be fine until you get picked up."

"It's too dangerous." Hiro pleaded. "I should be the one to go."

"I thought you would object." Maria said. "But I'm sorry, Hiro. The thought of you being violent to anyone is laughable. Not that Ando is either, but at least he can pull off looking mean. So, tomorrow night we have a going away party, but for now go pack your things and get ready to kiss this place goodbye."


	21. Run Like Hell

**A/N: Hello to Chaoyue! Just in time for the exciting bit…**

**Chapter 21- Run Like Hell**

Sylar stood at his window, mindlessly turning the chip in his fingers while he tried to formulate a plan. Outside, the crickets chirped in the dark and the new moon cast a dim light on the grounds, but it was enough for Iago to see and he spent his time stalking and pouncing on his long legged prey. He had no interest in eating them, he just enjoyed the hunt and Sylar watched him, but his mind was on other things.

He glanced back at the neatly made bed and ran over the checklist in his mind yet again. He likely wouldn't be sleeping in such comfort for the foreseeable future, but it was a trade he was willing to make if it meant succeeding. Despite an innate revulsion, he wore his bloodied black shirt and dark wash jeans because it was the darkest clothing he had and he needed every advantage he could get if he was going to pull this off. Likewise he wore a sturdy pair of boots to guide him through the uncertain terrain of the woods and whatever landscape lie ahead on his journey North. In his pockets he carried what remained of his medicine because he knew that once he decided to take the first step, he would have to run long and hard to escape and his ribs would certainly protest under the strain, but he was determined and the less he could feel the better. He also decided to take Maria's watch to possibly pawn for cash later. Although the resale value was less than what it was worth, any money may help. Finally, he had the remote because he was almost certain that it would come in handy one way or another- either for his own use, as a weapon against others, or as yet another potential source of income if he wanted to sell it to another slave who had enough money to convince him to part with it.

Despite his desire to take along extra clothing or his toiletries to keep clean, he knew he had to travel light and he didn't want to be weighted down with a bag. He knew the trek would be long and he would get dirty along the way, but that just made the prospect of showering as a free man in Canada sound even sweeter. He carefully listened to see if anyone remained stirring the quarters. It was late and soon they would all be asleep, the perfect time to slip away into the darkness like a shadow and never look back.

While he waited, he removed the remote from his pocket and selected his name to deactivate his own chip. He wasn't sure of what to expect, but he found the momentary jolt tolerable compared to actually being shocked and the calm sensation of his nerves being able to fully rest without the constant output of the chip was simply divine. He smiled at the feeling of instant relief and was amazed by the fact that it had been so long; he forgot what being normal felt like. He had simply grown accustomed to the incessant buzzing, slightly burning feel that permeated his every muscle and organ and he wondered how or why he accepted it at all now that his body was back to a state of equilibrium. He knew that his chip was still visible to anyone with a remote, but now that he was feeling something like himself again he felt more confident and determined to get his powers back and be who he was meant to be even if it meant sleeping in drainage ditches, eating what he could steal, or using anyone he came into contact with along the way.

He survived Level 5, being impaled, fought his way out of a dense Mexican jungle, lived through his own inadvertent cremation at Primatech, and narrowly escaped death at the hands of HRG when he viciously slit his throat during an eclipse and he was temporarily powerless. It was only a stroke of luck and the precious few seconds that he commanded himself not to die as he lay gurgling in a pool of his own blood that enabled him to hold out until his powers returned.

He didn't know what kind of dangers lie ahead, but it was his evolutionary imperative to continue to survive at any cost.

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Peter found Maria on the balcony off her bedroom. He should have known something was wrong when he heard the sad music softly playing and found a mostly empty wine bottle sitting next to a photo of her and Bryant on her dresser. She did occasionally drink, but for her to down a whole bottle by herself was unusual. He frowned and debated if he should disturb her with what amounted to a recap of the day's routine business, but he couldn't very well turn his back if she needed someone to talk to just because he was tired and wanted to go to bed. Almost without his volition, his feet carried him to the open French door that led to the balcony and he peeked around the corner. "Hey," he smiled, "you ok out here?"

Her eyes were red and swollen from crying and his heart sank. "Peter." She nodded as though she wouldn't have expected anyone else. "Have a seat."

He looked out at the view towards Jessup's property and swallowed. "I'm not sure that's a good idea." He advised in a low voice. "He could be watching and…" he glanced back into her room and blushed slightly, "it is your bedroom. We wouldn't want him to start spreading rumors."

She took a drink from her glass and with no measure of humor replied, "Let him. He thinks it's a-ok to molest my staff, why can't I? Even Tipton thought you were my 'special helper' last week."

He scratched his head nervously and squinted. "If I come out here, are you going to molest me?"

"I'm not in the mood to molest anybody." She grumbled. "Your safe."

He nodded and sat in the deck chair next to her with a sigh. It really had been a long day, he was physically as well as mentally worn out, and he would take whatever rest he could get at that point. "You know, if you didn't know Jessup lived over there it wouldn't be a bad view." He commented. "At least the woods kind of cover it."

"He didn't live there when we built this house." She said taking another sip. "And it wasn't even so bad after he moved in, but now…" Her voice trailed off as she waved her glass around haphazardly.

He watched her carefully and determined that she wasn't drunk, just depressed. In some ways he wished she was drunk, it would have been easier to deal with. "Did you talk to Noah?"

"Yes. He knows about the plan and he will do what he can." She turned her eyes to him and smiled faintly. "He's a good man, you know. He's all business on the outside and I don't ask what kind of business it is, but deep down I do think he wants to do the right thing."

"Probably better you don't ask." He chuckled. "But I agree." He probably knew Bennet better than she did- enough to know that even he didn't want to open the Pandora's box that was HRG.

"He asked me if I searched Gabriel!" She laughed unexpectedly. "Can you believe that?"

"What?" Peter asked confused. If there was a segue in her line of logic, he clearly missed it.

"I told him about the missing remote saga and he asked me if we searched Gabriel's body for it." She giggled. "Jesus, what does he want me to do? Make him strip naked in front of everyone and assume the position? I'm not running a prison here." She smiled and shook her head. "How degrading and humiliating. The way it rolled off his tongue like it was standard procedure was a little chilling."

"Well, he does work for the government," Peter mumbled uncomfortably, "who knows what they do." _I do and it is more or less standard procedure, but that's not the half of it…_

"Well, I shouldn't lick a gift horse in the mouth. He has done more than a man of his position should to keep this whole enterprise functional." She admitted. "I'm sure I would have been found out long ago if it weren't for him. Nathan sure knew what he was doing when he connected us."

Peter cocked his head slightly. "_Nathan_ introduced you? I thought you knew Noah through Bryant and his work with the chip program." She paused in mid-sip and glanced at him. He caught her and he turned slightly in his chair to face her. "Now who's holding out?"

"It was Nathan." She reluctantly admitted. "It was just happy coincidence that they both worked in the chip program. He thought it would be less conspicuous that way."

"I see." He nodded half mockingly. "Anything else you care to tell me?"

"Such as?" She prodded.

"I didn't just get here by accident, did I?" He asked with a knowing smile.

"No, Nathan set that up. I told you that."

"Yes, but I always thought it was strange that one day I was a paramedic in New York and the next I was being held by a trader in California to be sold at some high priced auction for collectors because of who my brother was. Then I was taken in the middle of the night and shipped to a god forsaken holding pen in Nebraska in the dead of winter. And sometime after that, I was transported back across the country to Tipton and you buy me. How exactly did that happen?"

She sighed and emptied her glass. "I don't know how you got from New York to Nebraska, but I suspect Noah had something to do with it. He could have changed your routing orders in the system, I don't know. What I do know is Nathan asked me if I would buy you because he couldn't stand the thought of such a hard life for you being someone's toy or an expendable commodity to work to death in a field. Noah tracked you to Nebraska and pulled strings to get you to Tipton so I could buy you directly, that way it wouldn't look suspicious. He called me to tell me you arrived and I kept checking every day, but the sale didn't happen until nearly a week later." She bit her lip and glanced at him. "If I knew then what you experienced during that time, I might have approached Tipton directly to try and arrange a private sale."

Peter hung his head and tried not to think of the whole trip between California and his new home. "You didn't know." He shrugged. "But all this time it was Nathan and Noah that got me here."

"Yes." She confirmed quietly. "I told you Nathan does care a great deal about you and he put himself at great risk trying to find a safe place for you. Could you imagine what would happen if someone found out about what he did?"

"It isn't the first time I've been a political liability for him." He smiled sadly. His heart still stung just a little at his brother's proclamation to the world that he had attempted suicide because he was depressed when all he was trying to do was fly.

"I'm sorry, Peter." She reached over and patted his arm. "I would offer you some wine, but you probably can't get drunk."

"Oh, I could." He corrected. "This afternoon I went down to your lab and took the suppressant."

She seemed saddened by the news. "So your powers are gone."

"All gone." He confirmed with a small smile.

"Well, then I would offer you some wine, but I drank it all." She shrugged.

"I noticed." He laughed. "What's the occasion?"

She grew somber and glanced timidly at her companion. "It's been a year."

Peter's smile faded and he grew serious. "Really?"

"Yep." She nodded. "And I thought that it would be easier by now, but it isn't. I still miss him."

"Of course you do." It was his turn to place his hand on her arm to comfort her. "He was a good man. There's no time table for grieving, Maria. Don't feel ashamed that you still miss him."

"It's this place." She gestured around herself in a helpless manner. "Everywhere I look, I'm reminded of him. He designed this house and built this balcony for me because he knew I like to drink coffee and watch the sunrise in the mornings. Most of the books in the library were his, even the silverware reminds me of him because we had a fight over the pattern!" She chuckled at the stupidity of it all. "He was a good man, Peter, but I can't keep living with his memory. The bastard that killed him has no idea what he's taken from me and will probably never be caught. He's dead and I have to get on with my life."

Peter flinched at her words. Did Sylar know what he did? Did he even care now that he has come face to face with the grieving widow of his victim? Did her kindness when he was sick and in pain make him feel even slightly guilty? Did he feel anything at all? He thought he did. Just like Noah, he had a tough exterior, but Peter wanted to believe that under the defensive armor lie a man who would at least have a little remorse for the loss he caused.

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Sylar threaded his long leg out the open window and contorted his body until he was able to slip out of his room and sneak across the lawn silently to the woods like an expert jewel thief. He crouched behind a tree and focused his attention on the quarters to see if anyone was aware of his exit. His heart pounded slightly in his chest from the impending excitement of the getaway and his senses were heightened. Suddenly he could smell the earthy scent of the forest: the slightly spiced smell of rotting leaves under his boots, the damp musky scent of the soil and the sound of the light breeze that stirred the canopy. The air felt heavy and he swore he could smell rain coming. Although he didn't like the idea of getting drenched, the storm would blot out what feeble light the moon cast and it would wrap him in darkness. He took one last look at the main house and silently receded into the protection of the canopy to head North through the woods.

He was careful to move quietly but quickly through the trees and he felt as though he were making good progress until perhaps a mile and a half away he heard the barking of dogs. He instinctually crouched down until he could determine if the dogs were barking because of him or if it was just a fluke. He waited patiently until it became clear that the dogs were moving in his direction and a jolt of adrenaline shocked his body into action. He took off at a full sprint, crashing through low branches and trying desperately to find a solution to his dilemma. He knew he couldn't outrun the dogs nor mask his scent and climbing a tree would only delay the inevitable. He managed to calm himself enough to take note of the landscape. Directly ahead the land became hilly and it was likely that a stream was nearby. If he could make it to the water he might have a chance of losing the dogs.

"You there, stop!" A voice yelled.

He turned his head briefly to see a shadow at the top of a hill holding what looked like a rifle. It only made him run faster.

"Stop now!" The voice boomed. "Stop or I'll shoot!"

The first flash of lightning lit up the sky overhead and he pushed himself harder. His lungs burned and his face and arms stung from being torn open by the low branches he couldn't avoid, but he kept moving. He had to. He couldn't get caught. Peter warned him what would happen and he would rather die.

He heard the crack of the rifle long before he felt the pain in his lower right side just above his hip. He didn't even realize that he had been shot for at least 50 yards as the adrenaline kept his body moving and his mind focused on only one thing: freedom. But once the pain became too sharp to ignore and the sensation of warm blood spilling down his pants was noticeable, he lost his concentration and tripped on a tree root. The miscalculation sent him tumbling down the side of a hill and he finally came to an ungracious stop at the edge of a creek, his arms and legs in a tangled heap while he lay there panting for breath from exhaustion and pain. Even so, he tried his best to pull himself up and keep going, but his body could not endure anymore and he collapsed half in the water and half in the wet dirt of the bank.

The dogs were on him before his shooter was, barking in his ear and nipping at him while he tried to lay still. The rain had come and it soaked him completely, adding the smell of wet dog to the misery until sloppy footsteps came to a stop by his head in the mud. "Now if you'd stopped like I told ya, I wouldn't have had to shoot you like that." Came an eerily familiar voice.

Sylar tried to get up to face his attacker, but one of the well trained dogs sank its teeth into his shoulder, forcing him to sink back down into the mud with a strangled whimper while another's hot breath hovered over his neck, ready to bite. The man laughed and smoothed his mustache at his feeble attempt at escape. "Not very smart, boy." The lightning flashed again and he paused to give his captive a light kick to roll him onto his back. "Get up." He commanded.

Sylar grasped his bleeding side and tried his best to apply pressure with a trembling hand while he painfully got to his knees, fighting the urge to pass out from shock or blood loss. He knew it was over for him, he couldn't fight anymore. All that was left was to bleed to death or provoke the man into outright killing him right then and there. He glanced up at his captor with his dark eyes, made somewhat hazier by the pain, and fell back on his heels in the driving rain. If he was going to die, he was going to do it like a man.

"Well I'll be damned." Arthur chuckled as he grabbed a handful of his captive's dark, wet hair and yanked his head back. "Don't I know you?" He asked rhetorically. "You're Maria's boy, aren't you?" He shoved him backwards into the mud and gave an evil laugh. "Well, not any more. You're mine now, boy. Today's my lucky day. I get the thief that stole Emily's remote."

Seeing his chance, he laughed and smiled grandly at Arthur while he arched his eyebrow. "That's not all I stole from her."

Surprisingly, Arthur gave a booming laugh. "Get over yourself, boy. You wouldn't be the first."

"Given her _vast_ experience," he continued in a mocking tone, "I expected better. Pretty disappointing I have to say."

Arthur gave him a quick smack to the head with the butt of his gun and pulled him up easily with one strong arm. "Didn't I tell you to mind your manners?" He asked holding the muzzle of his gun against Sylar's lower back to march him back to his property. "I'll bet you mind me better than you did Maria, that's for damn sure. I'll teach you some respect yet."


	22. Gone Baby Gone

**A/N: Ok folks, here's where the M rating comes in. Things are about to get very bad for Sylar in the next few chapters and herein lies graphic depictions of violence. I suggest you skip this chapter if such things upset you. In fact, you may want to cover your eyes until chapter 25 or so. No, his situation will not improve anytime soon although the worst of it happens….now!**

**Chapter 22- Gone Baby Gone**

Everyone sat expectantly at the breakfast table, glancing at Sylar's door intermittently. He had agreed to make breakfast and they were all waiting patiently, but time was running out. "I told ya." Matt sighed sitting back in his chair with his hands behind his head. "Cereal it is while sleeping beauty gets his rest in there."

"Maybe he just overslept." Hiro suggested. No matter what others thought of him, he had always found Sylar to be a man of his word- even if his plans were usually evil.

"Yeah, because he works so hard around here." Matt snarked. "I'm telling you, he's sawing logs in there and he won't get up until noon. He had no intention of cooking today." He huffed indignantly. "Not that I wanted him to anyway. God knows what he's come up with."

"Maybe Hiro's right." Peter shrugged. "It's raining outside, and I don't know about you, but I always sleep like the dead during storms."

"I know I did." Mohinder nodded. "I didn't want to get up either. There is something calming about rain, isn't there?"

"How are you feeling?" Ando asked politely.

"Better, thank you. Still a little sore, but I believe I can manage."

Matt glanced at his watch and drummed his fingers on the table. "Well, even if he does decide to grace us with his presence, it's too late for him to do anything now."

"I'll go wake him up." Peter volunteered. He knew better than to let Matt do it or there would surely be a fight to break up. He knocked on his door and called, "Sylar? Time to get up, man. Some of us have to work today." He paused to listen for any signs of movement, but heard nothing. "Sylar?" He called again, knocking louder. "You'd better be dead in there." He cautiously opened the door when his calls went unanswered to see the neatly made bed occupied only by Iago. He furrowed his brow and peeked around the door to the bathroom, which was empty and dark. A slight breeze blew through the open window and Peter stepped in, looking around as if he expected the killer to be either hiding under the bed or hanging from the ceiling like a bat, but in looking for him in the most unlikely places, he spotted a small object resting on the desk. He picked up the chip and frowned as he turned it over in his hands and looked at the window. He looked back at the chip and the window again and it all clicked. _Shit!_

"Peter?" Ando called from the kitchen with a worried expression. It really shouldn't take that long to wake someone up. Maybe Sylar was dead in his bed…

"I think he's gone." He responded with a growl as he headed for the main house leaving the entire table in shock.

"Gone?" Hiro asked in awe.

"I can't say I'm surprised." Mohinder shrugged. "I think we all knew this was coming."

"But what if he gets caught?" Ando asked no one in particular.

"Then he gets what he deserves." Matt declared throwing his hands up. "He thinks he's smarter than everyone else and he won't get caught, but the odds aren't in his favor. I told him karma would catch up to him and maybe this is his payday."

At the main house, Peter rummaged through the desk in the library for the remote and hastily turned it on to anxiously read the list of identified chips, although he knew deep in his heart he wouldn't find what he was looking for. Sylar's chip was out of range, but it was picking up Fann Wong's and Peter almost dropped the chip like it was a poisonous snake. _Jesus, did he kill her?_ He knew Fann and thought she was a sweet girl in very bad circumstances, but she seemed an unlikely target for Sylar. As far as he knew, he never killed children and without his own powers to collect hers, it would have been pointless anyway. Besides, Arthur was angry about a missing remote, not a dead slave- and if he was holding her chip it certainly meant she was dead. Perhaps Sylar did steal the remote after all, Bennet was right to be wary.

He knew that this could only end in one of three ways: Sylar was lucky enough to evade detection and get to Canada on his own- which he deemed highly unlikely given the distance and the skill of slave hunters with a profit motive. He would be caught along the way and because he was unregistered, go back to the black market to an owner who was willing to pay a premium for him and even more if they knew who he really was and what he could do. Or if he acted fast enough he could find him before anyone else did and bring him back- no harm, no foul aside from whatever Maria decided to do about it. At any rate, he didn't know how big of a head start Sylar had, but at this point every second counted and he had to find Maria and tell her. For a job this big, it might be time to call in her favor to HRG.

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Sylar opened his eyes slowly and blinked to try to clear his head. The last thing he remembered was walking up a hill in the rain with a gun in his back and then despite his best effort not to, he passed out. He glanced above his head at his chained wrists and frowned when he realized he was hanging by them and on his knees again, just like he was in Tipton's tent. It put an uncomfortable amount of strain on his shoulders, particularly the one that had been bitten by the dog. He just hoped he didn't have rabies as a result.

He couldn't tell what time it was because the barn he was being held in was relatively dark, but he assumed it was daytime even though the rain outside made what little light there was gloomy. The dampness in the air combined with the dark made it a little chilly, suggesting it was perhaps early morning, and he became aware for the first time that he was missing his shirt. Directly ahead of him was a wooden box and only by squinting to see was he able to identify the objects on top as the contents of his pockets.

The longer he hung there, the more aware he became and along with clarity of mind came acute perception. He started to notice the tension in his strained muscles and the dull ache of his ribs, but most of all, he was bothered by the hot and burning sensation of the bullet wound in his lower side. He debated whether or not he should look at it. If he didn't know the extent of the damage, he could tell himself it wasn't that bad. He had been shot many times before, mostly in rapid succession, but never before did he have to stick around for the consequences because his healing ability repaired the injury almost as fast as it happened. While plausible deniability had its advantages, he was a man who appreciated evidence and in the end he needed to know for sure where he stood. Cautiously, he peeked down but soon found his fears to be at least partly unfounded. He was caked in mud and there wasn't much to see, but from what he could tell it went in through his back and exited his flank. He didn't have Peter's medical knowledge, but he remembered hearing somewhere that a through-and-through was almost always a better alternative to having a bullet lodged inside of you and at least the mud stopped the bleeding. Now if he could just avoid infection…

He looked up sharply when the barn door opened. "Well, look who decided to join us again." Arthur chuckled while he pulled up another crate to sit on while he looked his captive over. "I'll tell you, you are one lanky son of a bitch to drag up a hill. Good thing you're a lightweight or I would've had to hitch you to a horse." He smoothed his mustache and smiled when Sylar just glared at him. "Looks like you have sticky fingers, too." He added, looking over the items on the crate next to him. "Wonder if Maria knows you raided her jewelry box as well as her medicine cabinet. Nothing worse than a drugged up thief, but I'm here to change all that."

Sylar watched with a bit of anxiety when Arthur picked up the remote and began pushing buttons. "How did you know?" He asked in a low voice.

"Know what?" Arthur asked raising his eyebrows in amusement. "That you were out there? I didn't, but the dogs picked up your trail. Only a man who's deaf or has something to run from keeps going after he's told he'll be shot." He shook his head and laughed. "And I knew you weren't deaf because you looked back and kept goin'. This isn't my first rodeo, son." He frowned as he read the display on the remote. "The bigger question, Mr. Gabriel Gray number 11537, is why your chip's deactivated. You know it's against the law to be running around with an inactive chip." He leaned forward and gave Sylar an almost fatherly look that made his stomach turn. No good ever came from a grown man that gave him that look. "Now son, these things don't happen by accident. Either you did it yourself or Maria did it for you. If you did it, I'm afraid the penalty is mighty stiff, but if you didn't then I can go easy on you on account of it wasn't your fault. Now," he smiled and lowered his voice, "which is it?"

Sylar's eyes grew dark as he thought about it. He could lie and say it was Maria and potentially spare himself some pain, but he knew that in the end it likely wouldn't help his cause. The fact remained that he stole the remote and he admitted as much- there was no walking that one back. And if having a deactivated chip was a bad thing, he could only imagine what the punishment for his theft would be. Even if he somehow managed to get by more or less unscathed, he knew he would have Peter to deal with and he had been warned- twice in fact- not to screw things up for Maria and he was inclined to believe him. There was no benefit to lying and there was no way to spin it. He raised his chin and coolly answered, "I did."

"Are you sure?" Arthur asked, giving him one more chance to plead for mercy and give him some evidence to use against Maria.

"It was me." He confirmed. "It's not that difficult to figure out. There are no security measures to keep me from using it. An older model I'm guessing, or is it just incredibly poor design?"

Arthur grinned as he stood up and retrieved a suede leather cattail whip from a wall and dipped it into the horse's watering trough. "You sure are a paradox, boy. Keen to hatch a plan, but not smart enough to save your own hide. Pity I'll have to take it off you, now." The smile on his face said otherwise and Sylar took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

The whip made a slight cracking sound as the strips of leather smacked into his bare flesh and the jagged edges of the suede gave him the equivalent of a rug burn on top of the bruising it caused. The fact that it was wet made it worse, and Sylar squeezed his eyes shut tight to keep from involuntarily crying and he bit down on his bottom lip for the first, second, third, and every other hit after that. He tried to block out the pain and be anywhere in his mind than in the barn, but the stinging sensation on his chest and back felt like he was being eaten alive by fire ants. He clenched his eyes tighter still and took short, rapid breaths while Arthur dished out the punishment until Sylar hung his head and tears began to fall. He wasn't crying because he was in pain, although he certainly was, he was angry. Very angry.

"Oh, what's this?" Arthur laughed as he wiped a tear from his cheek. "I didn't figure you for a softy. I thought you were a bad boy."

Sylar defiantly raised his red and swollen eyes to meet Arthur's and he growled through clenched teeth, "Kill me!"

"Kill you?" He laughed incredulously. "Why the hell would I do that?"

Sylar's mouth twisted into a smirk that made him look slightly insane, yet very evil. "Because if you don't," he warned in a low and menacing voice, "I will kill you the first chance I get."

Although there was something in the tone of his voice and the look in his almost black eyes that made Arthur take a step back, he reminded himself that he had nothing to fear from the man in front of him. It was a nice show of bravado, but he was chained, chipped, and whipped and as long as he remained so, he was powerless. Arthur picked up the remote and reactivated Sylar's chip, holding the 'activate' button a little longer than he really needed to just to watch him twist and convulse and try not to scream until he thought he was going to dislocate his shoulders or inadvertently hang himself.

Sylar hung his head and gasped for breath while his muscles twitched and his vision went pure white from optic nerve overload. He felt blood run down his chin and it flowed into his mouth. While he was having an induced seizure, he accidently bit into his lip until his teeth were buried. He swung slightly by his wrists, panting and intermittently spitting blood until his vision finally came back while Arthur circled him like a shark holding a pair of needle nose pliers in his hand. _Don't tell me he's going to pull my teeth out now…I'm surprised Bennet didn't think of that one. _

"I'm not too worried about your hollow threat." He advised as he continued to orbit him like a wayward asteroid waiting to crash. "See, I've noticed something about you. You talk a big game, but really you just half-ass follow through. I ask you to do one thing and one thing only: dig a hole six feet deep, and yet somehow you managed to screw that up." He paused in front of him with a stern expression. "Either your stupid or lazy, I can't tell which, but I do know you're a sick bastard. Did you at least kiss her before you fucked her dead body?"

"That's disgusting." Sylar sneered. People could accuse him of a great many things, but pedophilia and especially necrophilia were not among his interests. "I buried her and that's it."

"Except you did a piss poor job of it and animals dug her up a few days later." He grumbled. "And that's when I noticed that she was missing something." He strolled around to Sylar's back and shoved his head forward until his chin touched his chest. "I'll bet you have a shiny new one since you just got yours." He chuckled as he removed a pocket knife and slowly reopened the scar line at the base of his neck. "Let's see how you like it." He inserted his pliers into the open wound and grasped the edges of the exposed chip. He pulled gently and his smile grew wider as Sylar screamed in sheer agony.

He had never experienced anything like it in his life. Not being burned to death, not all of the experiments he endured, nothing Bennet could ever come up with, not even Elle's full fury could compare with the searing hot, mind-blowing pain that felt like glass shards all through his body. In his own, private, white hot Hell he did something he hadn't done in almost 20 years: he prayed. He sincerely prayed for death to take him because he knew no one was coming to his rescue and he had no hope for mercy.

A mile away on Sylar's bed, Iago raised his head and looked toward the window as the storm continued. His ears twitched and he let out a feeble cry.


	23. No Help

**Chapter 23- No Help**

_All, all my hate cannot be bound  
>I will not be drowned<br>By your thoughtless scheming  
>So you can try to tear me down<br>Beat me to the ground  
>I will see you screaming<em>

"_Thoughtless" –Korn_

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Maria stood shell shocked at her desk in her lab. "Are…are you sure?" She stammered.

"Yeah." Peter nodded miserably. "I don't know when he left, but he left this." He held out his hand to show her Fann's chip. "Maria, I'm pretty sure now that he did take Jessup's remote and this chip is from one of his slaves." He didn't think it was possible for her to get any more pale, but she somehow did. "I don't know how he got it, but I think we both know that it ups the game just a little."

"Why?" She mumbled shaking her head. In all her time she never had any of her staff run away. She felt she treated them well by most standards even if the situation wasn't always ideal, but more than for herself she dreaded what she knew lie ahead of Gabriel should he get caught. Surely it was all just a mistake- he simply didn't understand or maybe he was sleepwalking, anything but the notion that he willingly and with purpose ran away…

"It had nothing to do with you, Maria." He tried to console her. "He had his own reasons."

Her vacant eyes turned to him and in an almost monotone voice she declared, "We have to get him back, Peter. We have to find him before anyone else does."

He wholeheartedly agreed. "I know, but he could be miles from here in any direction. We need help if we are going to find him." His expression grew stern and he lowered his voice. "There's only one man I know of that has been able to track him when he didn't want to be found- even before there were chips." He tossed the stolen chip on her desk. "I think you need to call Noah."

She nodded numbly. "What are you going to do?"

He turned for the stairs and sighed. "Make some calls on your behalf inquiring about any new slaves recently acquired." He also planned on calling the local morgue, but he wasn't going to tell her that. He knew that if Sylar ran into trouble and he was badly injured, he wouldn't be taken to a hospital because he was a slave. If the damage was too great, he would just be allowed to die and maybe he would turn up at the morgue- that was assuming his body wasn't just dumped somewhere because in reality, bystanders had no social obligation to give slaves- living or dead- any dignity. They weren't people, they were property and at every turn they were constantly reminded of that fact.

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Sylar hung like a limp ragdoll by his chains, blissfully oblivious to the world around him. He didn't get the death he asked for, but he did pass out from the overwhelming pain and that was just as good in his mind. Any reprieve, no matter how temporary, was welcome. The only downside he could think of as he faded into unconsciousness was that he would eventually wake up and the torture would continue at some point, but for the moment, he would take what he could get. Unfortunately for him, it wasn't nearly long enough.

Emily slowly approached like a cat stalking her prey and smiled as she ran her hand through his damp and tangled hair. He was out cold and gave no response or any indication of awareness even when her fingers tore through a few knots in the thick strands. It was no fun to play with an unconscious pal, so she squatted in front of him and lightly slapped his face until his dark eyes fluttered open with great effort. "Hey there." She cooed. "How's my angel?"

He struggled to focus and each time he woke up it took longer to get his bearings again. He was getting weak from the blood loss and general abuse he had taken, but one thing that he did know was that he wasn't _her_ angel- or anyone else's for that matter- and it wasn't likely that she was there to help him in any way judging by the disingenuous grin she wore. Just beyond her shoulder, he spotted the medicine bottle still sitting just out of reach on the crate. It was almost torture in and of itself to know that some kind of relief was so close yet so unavailable. He would have downed the entire bottle if he could. He flinched slightly when she slowly ran her cold fingers around the inside of his waistband and traced the line of hair from his navel to deeper depths with a coy smile. _She can't be serious…does she really expect me to be able to do that now? Not today, honey, I have a headache…and in a lot of other places…_

"I hear you've been a very naughty boy." Her lips ghosted over his bloodied ones, but he held still. "Normally I like bad boys." Her breath was hot on his neck and she deposited a soft kiss on his collarbone before biting him hard enough to draw blood. She got a satisfying hiss and "oww!" from him and it only encouraged her. She wanted more. "But I hear you've been telling lies about me." She accused bitterly.

His hardened eyes were absolutely unapologetic as he watched her stand up and tower over him. The only thing he was sorry for was momentarily allowing himself to fall for her game. Even though he didn't like her one bit, for just a second there she actually had him feeling kind of good, but he should have known it was a trap. His eyes followed her as she retrieved the same shovel he used to bury the Asian girl and he knew the game had changed. She was just like her father.

"You told him we slept together, but you know that's not true. Oh, 'I could make this so much better for you' you said."

"I could have." He shrugged as much as he could. "It's not my fault your daddy interrupted. And as I remember, you were afraid he was going to find out, so I covered for you." _Really, I did it to hide the fact I stole the remote from you, but whatever._ He cocked his head slightly and smirked. "Funny your father seems to know that you rape slaves, but you didn't want him to find out about me. Is it because you thought I was…I don't know….special?"

"Hardly!" She growled through bared teeth. She swung the shovel like Babe Ruth and landed a home run directly on his bruised ribs as though X marked the spot. "That's for getting me into trouble and stealing my remote!" She yelled throwing her weapon down in front of him.

She hit him with far more force than he thought she was capable of and if there had been any question of his ribs being broken before, they certainly were now. His body shuddered slightly as he hung his head and gave a few weak, ragged, wet sounding coughs and bright red blood splattered on his bruised lips. He knew things were dire. Suddenly he couldn't breathe and there didn't seem to be enough oxygen in the world as he gasped like a fish out of water. The room began to spin and he gave one last feeble cough before everything went black. He didn't know if he would wake up again, but if he did, he knew that Emily now earned a spot on his list for retribution. He would get his revenge. There was a grave waiting somewhere: either for him or for the Jessups, but it would soon be occupied.

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"I assume this is of the utmost importance." Noah frowned down at Maria. "Leaving the office in a hurry like that raises questions."

"I'm sorry, Noah, but this is important and I'm grateful that you came on such short notice." She demurred. Even though she knew Noah Bennet, she didn't really know him per se and the business side of him she spoke of to Peter was in full force. It was the sharpness in his cold blue eyes and the authoritarian stance of his posture that clearly announced to anyone with at least minimal intelligence that he was not a man to be trifled with. "It's Gabriel. We think he's run away and it seems you might be the only one who can help us find him before someone else does."

Noah shot Peter a withering 'I told you so' glare and asked, "Do you know how long he's been gone?"

"The last time anyone seen him was at lunch yesterday." Peter answered. "But he wouldn't leave during the middle of the day, would he?"

Noah removed his glasses and sighed. "Probably not. Too much risk of being spotted. But assuming he did, that gives him an almost 24 hour head start. If he's reasonably healthy and motivated, with breaks he could cover about 40 miles in that time if he walked. Farther if he managed to steal a car or some other means of transport."

"Jesus." Peter sighed scratching his head in frustration. "How are we going to find him then?"

"Well, if he were registered, it would be easy." He glanced at Maria and added, "But he's not, so we can't track him through the system. The fastest way to locate him may be getting a long range scanner and a helicopter to canvass the area, but that will take some time to get- never mind how I would explain it." After a moment of silence, he put his glasses back on and shook his head. "It's unfortunate, but he pretty well tied your hands and you don't have many options to help him this time. The best you may be able to do is offer a good sized bounty to slave trackers and hope they can find him." He noted the helpless exasperation in her eyes. "I know it's not ideal, Maria, but it's realistic and at this point it's all you have." He placed a hand on her shoulder and his hard blue eyes went soft briefly. "I know you want to spare him from what we all know will happen if he gets caught. Maria, I don't know how to tell you this gently, but in all likelihood he will be caught and you need to prepare yourself for that." He let his hand drop and he straightened his suit jacket. "I have to get back to the office, but I promise I will keep a close eye on the wires just in case I see his name come up. If it does, maybe we can work a deal to get him traded back to you, but for your own sake don't expect too much too soon."

Although she was clearly disappointed, she smiled bravely. "Thank you, Noah."

He nodded and made a slight gesture for Peter to follow him. When they were out of earshot, he whispered, "What the hell happened?"

"I don't know!" Peter protested. "He and Matt got into a fight at lunch, but I didn't think it was that bad. I mean, it didn't come to blows or anything."

Noah shook his head and placed his hands on his hips. "I knew this was going to happen, I just didn't think it would be so soon."

"Yeah, well it gets worse." He warned in a low voice. "I'm almost certain he did steal the remote and I found a chip on his desk."

Noah's eyes betrayed his calm expression. "Where the hell did he get a chip?"

"It belonged to one of Jessup's slaves." He answered looking around to be sure no one was eavesdropping on the conversation. "A girl named Fann Wong."

"Do you think he killed her?" Noah asked calmly. Given Sylar's history, it was a distinct possibility.

"I don't think so, but I can't say for sure he didn't." He admitted. "But why would he? It's not like she would have been a threat to him and he knows he can't take her power without his IA."

Noah shrugged slightly. "It wouldn't be the first time he killed when he knew he didn't have his powers. He murdered Candice Wilmer and Alejandro and Maya Herrera that we know of." It was simply a matter of fact for him. "Anyway, Jessup hasn't reported the theft and he hasn't reported any deceased slaves recently. If you have her chip, she's certainly dead- but the program hasn't been notified about it yet. What's the number you put into his chip?"

"11537." He replied.

"I'll keep an eye out, but that's assuming no one catches on that he's unregistered and reprograms it with a different name and number." He sighed and looked down at Peter. "I know Maria thinks otherwise, but maybe it's for the best that he ran. He's more trouble than she can handle and I hate to see her waste her time and resources on a man that is known for biting the hand that feeds him. The only way we're going to find him is to follow the trail of bodies he leaves behind- just like the good old days. Your chip may be the starting point, but something tells me there will be more."


	24. Unlikely Allies

**A/N: Hola to kit93 and Cabot! Thanks for stopping by!**

**Chapter 24- Unlikely Allies**

The lunch table was somber and silent as Matt, Mohinder, Ando, and Hiro ate in silence. Although none of them considered Sylar anything other than the enemy to be feared or avoided at all cost, there was still a palpable sense of loss after his disappearance. They should have been at least relieved if not outright happy that he just might get the karma payout he was due, but they couldn't fool themselves. Sylar, for all his past misdeeds and general menacing, was not really the Sylar they once knew. Yes, he was still aloof and solitary and perhaps a bit manipulative, but he was just a man- he was no longer the immortal and all-powerful demigod that could survive the punishment that would come from an attempted escape from the system. Such were the constraints of the system that few tried to run and an even smaller percentage actually made it, and those that did happened to live nearest the northern border anyway. Sylar didn't have a chance because he had much farther to go and an extremely well designed system that ensured the status quo was maintained. It was as though they already assumed him dead…wherever he was.

"I'm taking off." Peter announced stopping only to grab a handful of granola bars to sustain him for the long haul. "If by any chance you guys hear anything, call me." He tried to remain calm, but he couldn't keep the tense edge out of his voice. He knew he was racing against the clock.

"Need any help?" Matt asked with a resigned sigh.

Peter smirked at him as he laced his boots. "I didn't think you'd ever volunteer."

"Yeah." He frowned throwing his hands in the air. "Me either, but I just thought that…you know…maybe my training could be useful to you or something. I know I never made detective, but I learned a thing or two about finding people on the beat."

"You don't need to convince me; I worked around cops all the time as a paramedic. Street cops are smarter than they get credit for." He complimented. "I'd be grateful for your help."

"What can I do?" Hiro asked hopefully. "I want to help."

Peter looked out at the pouring rain through the window. He didn't know how any clues would be left after being washed away and he didn't need more people stomping around in the mud to destroy what was left behind. Knowing that Sylar was exceedingly meticulous, there probably weren't many to begin with. "The best way you can help is to go over to the main house and try to do what you normally do. You know Maria, she'll try to act like she's not worried, but I think that a sense of routine will help. If she wants to talk, then listen." He advised. "You can help me by helping her."

"When really we're all helping Sylar." Mohinder said grimly. "I just hope he has the sense to appreciate it this time, although I'm not hopeful."

"He didn't know what he had." Ando shook his head sadly. "It's good here compared to other places."

Matt grabbed a flashlight and joined Peter at the door. "Well, he'll find out soon if he hasn't already." With that, he and Peter ventured out into the maelstrom to track a man that might as well have been a ghost for what little they had to go on.

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Luke Campbell and West Rosen ducked into the barn to avoid the rain that seemed to be coming down in buckets. There was no way they could continue their assigned job of chopping wood hauled in from the surrounding forest. Normally it was a job West would have done on his own, but Luke was new and he had to show him the ropes of working at Jessup's farm. It was a big responsibility since he had only been there a handful of times himself. His owner told him he was on loan because Maria Siegel refused to send her slaves to help anymore, but he didn't seem too pleased about it. Not that West was either, but he knew he couldn't argue about it. He had been warned about Arthur's temper and Emily's carnal interests, but so far the pair had been lucky and hadn't seen much of either- it was a little strange in fact.

"Jesus. Is this a hurricane or something?" Luke asked trying to wring water from his clothes. It was hopeless, but he was drenched from head to toe and felt like he had to do something even if it was futile.

"I don't think so." West answered peeking out the cracked door. "It's just a really bad storm. We can't stay in here for too long, though. I don't want to get caught."

"Yeah, well I don't want to get any wetter." He looked down at his clothes clinging uncomfortably to his body. "As if that's possible." West heard him, but he was busy keeping a lookout so Luke casually glanced around until in the darkness he spotted something unusual. "West!" He hissed, giving him a light tap on the arm to get his attention. "West, I think someone's in here."

"What?" He asked clearly alarmed. "Where?" West was a man who tried especially hard to stay out of trouble and his mind leapt to wild conclusions about what may happen if it were Arthur himself. Suddenly being struck by lightning while he was chopping wood didn't seem so bad.

"Over there." He gestured toward the horses. "It looks like…what the hell is that?" Luke wasn't as skittish perhaps because he hadn't been in the system long enough to hear the horror stories of what owners like Arthur did to slaves who disobeyed his orders, but he was inexplicably drawn toward the mystery and he approached with caution. He frowned when he got close enough to declare, "There's a dude hanging here."

"Hanging? Then get away from him!" West ordered.

"Not by his neck like a suicide or something." He scoffed. He leaned in a little closer to get a better look, but it was tough because the man's head was hanging down which made it hard to see his face. What he could see was one very familiar, perfectly arched eyebrow and he knew instantly who it belonged to. "Sylar?" He laughed in utter disbelief. "Holy shit, dude!"

"Sylar?" West asked joining him slightly panicked. "_The _Sylar? You know him?"Everybody knew that name and they all feared it. Claire told him about the things he did to her and it was gruesome. A small spark of hatred ignited within him for hurting her like he did.

Luke turned to his companion and sarcastically inquired, "How many Sylars do you know?" He looked back at his former road trip chauffeur and noted the obvious beating he had taken. _Jesus, man. Who did you piss off? _"I met him back East before the chip program started."

"And you lived to tell about it?" He half laughed. "That's amazing. Must have been an off day for him."

"He was an absolute badass back then." He still held a sense of pleasant nostalgia for the short time he spent with the notorious killer. "Not so much now, I see." There was absolutely no reaction from Sylar and it made him a little sad to see just how far he had fallen. He idolized him in some small way and if they were able to capture him, then there was no hope for anyone.

"Maybe he's dead." West quietly noted. If he was, he knew Claire would be happy about it, wherever she was. She told him about Maria's operation, and he still remembered the sad smile she wore the last time they met and she told him she was leaving. He was happy for her, but he missed her. He didn't live that far away and Maria would often let her leave the property to come and see him. He hated being a slave as much as anyone, but she made it bearable and now she was gone and he was faced with the bogeyman she told him about in hushed whispers.

Luke never considered it a possibility until he saw the gaping open wound on the back of his neck and the bloody pair of pliers on the crate nearby. Suddenly he realized how pale Sylar was and he had to look very closely to see the almost imperceptible expansion of his chest that indicated he was breathing. "We have to do something." He declared.

"Like what?" West asked exasperated. "Should we find a file and spend the next two hours trying to saw through the chain?"

"I don't know, but we can't leave him here. He'll die!" He protested.

The resolve in West's eyes was almost shocking. "Maybe he should. He's done very terrible things."

Luke couldn't believe his ears. "Yeah, he told me he was a serial killer but at least he was honest about it!"

"Why do you want to save him so bad?" He asked intrigued.

Luke debated if he wanted to tell another living soul what he had experienced, but he knew he would have to spill the beans to get West to help him. "I didn't spend a lot of time with him, but he was the closest thing to a brother I ever had, ok? He tried to teach me about how to use my ability and he could have killed me, but he didn't." West watched him intently, but seemed unmoved. "_And_ he saved my ass, ok?" He added in a sharp tone. "Federal agents raided the diner we were in and he took an entire clip of bullets in the chest and still rescued me from them, so I can't leave him here." He looked at West pleadingly. "It's the least I owe him."

West ran his hands through his wet hair and stared down at the chained man. Was it possible that the sadistic killer Claire told him about could also be a hero and help others? It didn't seem like Sylar had anything to gain by helping Luke and he certainly didn't take his power as payment or he wouldn't be standing there. He walked warily around Sylar as though he could still lash out even though he was unconscious and gently pushed aside the edges of his neck wound.

"What are you doing?" Luke asked mystified.

"Seeing if he still has his chip." He replied. "If Arthur pulled it out, there's no point in wasting our time. Usually people die right away, but an unlucky few live for hours after in agony and then die."

After a few tense seconds he asked, "Well?"

In the dim light, he caught just a glimmer of the circuits. "It's still in." West reported uneasily. He didn't like being near Sylar, let alone having his blood on his hands. He definitely felt tainted. "We can't help him, but I might know someone who can."

"Who?" Luke asked anxiously. By the looks of Sylar, he wasn't going to hold on much longer and he didn't have time to play guessing games with West.

"When Claire lived at Maria Siegel's, she told me that if I ever got into trouble or needed help that I should talk to her uncle: Peter Petrelli. She said I could trust him no matter what. Maybe he'll know what to do."

"Petrelli?" He howled. "You mean like the asshole Senator that got us here?"

"Yeah, but he's not like that." He granted. "He's one of us. At least that's what Claire said. Siegel's place is about a mile away. I'll run over there and you stay here and cover for me if Arthur asks where I am, but whatever you do, don't stay in here with him or you could end up looking like him."

Luke took one last look back at Sylar hanging like a side of beef and reluctantly followed West back out into the rain to chop wood in an effort to look busy. He hoped West could run fast enough and that Peter wouldn't be a dick and not help like his girlfriend promised. While the rain ran down his face and he concentrated on each swing of the axe, he wondered if Sylar ever found his father. If he did, did he find him just as pathetic as he warned him he was? Luke didn't tell West that part of the story, but he wanted to help Sylar because like him, he knew what it was like to be abandoned and abused and even if Sylar didn't agree, he thought it made them kindred spirits in a way. For just a brief period, Sylar showed him more attention and guidance than he had his entire life from his father and through his mask of indifference, he knew that deep down Sylar felt a connection too- no matter how small or tenuous.

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West ran as fast as he could and cursed the fact that he could no longer fly, but he pushed on through the rain and the mud to find Peter Petrelli. The whole time he questioned himself as to whether or not his mission constituted a betrayal of Claire given what she told him. He was knowingly aiding and abetting a killer who had an untold number of victims- none as lucky as her to have survived his attacks. _He cut her head open and exposed her brain while she lay there awake and helpless!_ He tried to square that with the portrait of the man that Luke encountered: a selfless, brotherly hero and it made his head spin. It sounded like Jekyll and Hyde to him. In the end, he decided that his involvement would end with Petrelli. He would tell him what he found and let him take it from there. He technically wouldn't be saving the most feared man ever, but he wouldn't be contributing to his death either. He was just starting to run out of breath when he spotted two figures ahead at the edge of the woods. He might not have seen them if they didn't have a flashlight.

"Hey, you ok?" Peter asked with a concerned expression. He steered West to a tree and propped him up against the trunk before he passed out. "Relax, it's ok. What are you running from?"

"Pet…Pe…" West panted, trying his best to fight the rising swell of nausea that hit him after sprinting so hard. "Petre…"

"Petrelli?" He guessed with a squint while the rain dripped off his hair. "That's me."

West looked up with a relieved smile. "Thank god." He laughed. "Claire told me….to find you…"

"Claire?" Matt asked confused. "When did you talk to her?"

West shook his head no and gestured that it was a long time ago. He was starting to get his breath back, but he could only speak in short sentences. "At Jessup's. Sylar's at Jessup's."

Matt and Peter exchanged worried glances. "Are you sure?" Matt inquired. "How do you know it's him?"

"Luke knows him." He shrugged. "He's hanging in the barn."

Peter had no idea who Luke was, but he assumed it was a positive ID since they used the killer's assumed name. "Is he alive?" Hanging could mean many things and he wouldn't put it past Jessup to outright lynch him if he refused to kowtow.

"Yeah." West confirmed, standing upright once he could breathe again. "But barely. Arthur did a number on him. It looks like he tried to pull out his chip."

Matt looked away in disgust. As much as he hated Sylar and wanted him to finally get what was coming to him, even he couldn't condone such a barbaric form of torture. He wouldn't feel too bad for him if he just got the crap kicked out of him, but that was far beyond the pale and he wondered how he didn't die while it was being pulled out. "It sounds like we don't have much time."

Peter's normally soft and friendly demeanor hardened into crisis management mode and he dug in his pocket for his cell phone. He held it to his ear and paced impatiently while he waited for someone to pick up. "Hiro. Tell Maria we found Sylar. Jessup caught him and we need to get him out right away. Ask Mohinder to meet us on the northeast side of the property by the woods and have Ando take my medical supply bag to the lab and clear the table down there. It sounds like we're going to need it…What? Oh yeah, I forgot he doesn't have the code. Ask Maria to open the door for him then. Ok, bye."

Matt didn't hear his name on the task list so he felt compelled to ask, "So what's the plan, then?"

Peter regarded him with a blank expression while the deluge continued all around them. "I don't know." He admitted. "I'll figure it out when I get there."


	25. Saving Sylar

**Chapter 25- Saving Sylar**

Mohinder stood with his hands on his hips, his curly dark hair dripping and plastered in an unruly mop on his head. He wore an expression of uncertainty and it was a sentiment Matt could appreciate. He too felt conflicted about his involvement. Did he really want to risk everything to help rescue Sylar- a man who was most undeserving of their efforts- but could he really live with the fact that he lay in his bed while a mile away and man died a slow and torturous death at the hands of Arthur Jessup? He didn't want to help Sylar in the slightest, but in the end it was a damned if he did, damned if he didn't situation, so he might as well go with Peter's plan- whatever that was.

"Mohinder." Peter greeted with a serious nod. "Are you feeling up to this?"

"No matter what I may be feeling, from what I hear Sylar is in far worse condition. I think it's best not to focus on me at the moment if you want to successfully retrieve him." The truth was, he was sore, but the excitement of the adventure made him forget about it and it felt good to be needed, even if he wasn't exactly sure how.

"I think our timing with the…" he glanced at West and decided against letting the cat out of the bag just yet, "…_project_ couldn't have been better. We might need your skills. Matt, you've worked over there before. Do you have some idea of the layout of the property?"

"More or less." He shrugged. "If he's in the barn, we can approach from the backside through the woods. There's a clearing about 100 feet from there to the door we have to somehow cross without getting noticed."

"Luke can help you with that." West volunteered. "He and I can create a distraction or something to give you time to get him out. How long do you think you'll need?" He couldn't believe he just put himself directly into the line of fire, but he got caught up in the moment. There was no question that Claire would be upset if she knew what he did, but he hoped that she could forgive him someday.

Peter turned to look at Mohinder for a response. "How would I know?" He laughed. "I don't know anything about his circumstances. Is he simply laying on the ground, or is he suspended from the rafters in a steel cage? Details matter in situations such as these."

"He's hanging from cuffs attached to a chain above his head, but he's kneeling so it will be easy to reach them. If there's a key, I don't know where it would be." West provided.

Once more, Peter glanced at Mohinder. "It sounds relatively simple, but it's not as if I do this on a daily basis. I don't have a personal best event time." Peter raised his eyebrows for a better estimation. "Under two minutes?" Mohinder guessed exasperated.

"Then that's what we'll go with." Peter declared. "We'll approach from the woods and wait for West and Luke to clear the way. We get in, get Sylar loose, and get out as quickly as possible. Matt, you keep watch in the woods in case something happens."

"What do you want me to do?" He asked confused.

"I don't know. Whistle or something." Peter shrugged. "Just give us a heads up if there's trouble."

"How about whistling 'Psycho Killer', would that do it?" He mumbled under his breath and he and the others slogged through the woods towards the Jessup farm.

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Maria helped Ando hastily clear her stainless steel lab table in preparation for Gabriel's arrival. She tried to focus on the task at hand and not let her imagination run wild with what could be, but she fully trusted Peter's judgment. If he said it was going to be bad, then it was and she had to prepare herself for that. But she didn't know if bad meant scrapes and bruises or the equivalent of being mauled by a bear, and that's what had her on edge. Knowing Arthur Jessup as she did, she was inclined to think it was the latter.

Once the table was cleared, she disinfected it as well as she could with Lysol and scrubbed it until her arm was sore. It was plainly overkill, but she didn't want to take any chances on spreading infection and it gave her something to do while she waited helplessly. Ando watched her with a sad expression on his face. He too felt a little lost and suspected the worst, but he put on a brave face. "Maybe Peter's just being careful." He suggested.

She smiled tensely at him. "Let's hope so, Ando. Do you think that maybe you and Hiro could go through the house and gather any first aid supplies or anything that might be useful?"

"Of course." He nodded, grateful to have a task rather than just stand there waiting and he knew Hiro would feel the same.

After he went bounding up the steps, she sighed and fought back tears of anxiety and frustration. Why did Gabriel do this to her? Was he so unhappy that he thought taking his chances was better than staying? Didn't she give him everything he asked for, show him compassion, and try to protect him as best she could? Sure, she failed him on at least one account, but he didn't seem to directly hold it against her. Peter told her that he had his own reasons and it had nothing to do with her, but how could it not? She tried to provide a life of relative comfort for him, but it apparently wasn't enough and now things were as bad as they had ever been. Even if Peter and the others could bring him back, he would be far from safe. Eventually, Jessup would discover him missing and she would be his first suspect. With the chip, she couldn't hide him indefinitely since he would still show up on a scanner deactivated or otherwise. The penalty for stealing a slave was almost as harsh as it was for one running away, but she had no choice: she couldn't abandon him even though he placed them all in great peril.

She swallowed hard and pushed it all out of her mind while she rummaged through Peter's supply bag. Gauze, tape, syringes, flexible tubing, scissors, a few scalpels, a stethoscope, alcohol wipes, latex gloves, burn cream, a pen light, a mysterious digital device that was relatively small, a thermometer, a sealed bottle of saline, an epi pen, and vials of morphine, Benadryl, and various antibiotics were stuffed inside. She was grateful to her doctor friend for procuring the items for her, one by one to build a serviceable kit for Peter to use. It wasn't long until Hiro and Ando returned, carrying all manner of items from band-aids to rolls of paper towel to add to the arsenal. Together, they waited anxiously like doctors in a field hospital for the arriving casualty.

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Sylar drifted in and out of consciousness, but he was never fully lucid. At the best of times, he had only a dim awareness of his surroundings- enough to know that his situation hadn't changed: he was still hanging by his now numb arms, his body ached, and he still couldn't breathe. Every once in awhile, a horse would snort or the rain would fall harder and he heard it, but more often than not he was stuck in a hellish limbo state of semi-consciousness where he couldn't really tell if what he witnessed was real or all in his head.

His senses were betraying him. In turns he felt as though he had a fever and the next he was shivering with chills. The pain from his neck and gunshot wound would throb with intensity, but sometimes he didn't notice it at all. Sometimes he thought he heard voices whispering about him in the darkness and he didn't always remember where he was- all he knew was he was being held captive against his will and if he couldn't escape soon he could very well die there. Maybe he was dead, he didn't know.

During the times he emerged from the darkness of his subconscious, images and thoughts would swirl in a chaotic spiral in his head, but one theme tied them all together: the life he led could have been very different. Images of his life played in his mind's eye like a spliced film and it made him sick. The murders, the running, the overwhelming sense of loneliness and insignificance that he felt almost his entire life, knowing he'd been sold by his father for cash, witnessing his mother's death- both of them- every slight he'd experienced since his memory began was displayed for his review. The boys that pushed him down on the playground every day, the popular girl in high school that asked him to prom on a dare and then laughed at him while her friends watched, his mother's insistence that no matter what he did he could have done better, keeping his nose buried in books because his innate shyness complicated things. The list went on and on.

His life could have been so much different if he could have discovered his power much earlier. Maybe his father would have thought him worthy to carry his name, maybe his mother would have lived and she would have loved him for who he was and not what she wanted him to be. He could have pushed the playground bullies back. He would have asked the popular girl out because he would have been popular too. If he could have been Sylar rather than Gabriel, he wouldn't have felt worthless and unloved. Even if people didn't necessarily love Sylar, they feared and respected him and that was far more than Gabriel could ever hope for. He had a taste of the life he wanted, he would even say the one he deserved, but in the end he would die as lonely and unnoticed as Hiro said he would.

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West emerged from the woods covered in mud and leaf fragments as he took a quick look around and approached Luke, who was still chopping wood although it didn't look like he accomplished much in his absence. "Ok," he nodded in a hushed whisper, "I found Peter and he brought some help."

"About damn time!" Luke chided as he looked around for the rescue party. "I haven't been in there, but he's probably dead by now."

"Don't make it so obvious, jerk!" West hissed. "Have you seen Arthur or Emily?"

Luke shook his head as he swung the axe and the log split into two neat sections. "No. I know it's raining and all, but you would think they would at least check on us once in awhile to see that we're working."

"That's so weird." West agreed. "Help me keep an eye out while they get him." He motioned towards the woods and Luke watched while two men sprinted from the tree line and past him through the open barn door. He had never seen them before, but he wondered if only two people were enough.

Once their eyes adjusted to the relative darkness they found their way to Sylar, trying not to spook the horses along the way. "Oh my god." Mohinder breathed as he took in the sight before him. "What have they done?" He simply wasn't expecting him to be in such rough shape. Damaged, yes, but he was a bloody mess and it looked like he was on death's doorstep.

Peter's mouth was drawn into a tight line of concentration as he squatted in front of Sylar and gingerly felt his neck for a pulse. He found one, but it was weak. "Can you use your ability to get him free? We don't have much time." He said grimly. He noted the pallor of his skin and the unusually high warmth and it worried him. Given the number of open wounds and the less than sterile conditions he was being held in, infection was a definite possibility.

Mohinder immediately seized on the cuff surrounding Sylar's left wrist and just started to tug when West poked his head in and hissed, "Hide! Arthur's coming!"

Peter and Mohinder glanced at one another in panic and quickly scrambled up a nearby ladder to the hayloft above. They hid themselves in a pile of straw and watched as Arthur sauntered over to Sylar and gave him a hard slap on the side of the head. "Wake up, boy. This ain't no hotel." Sylar slowly lifted his head and tried to focus his hazy, dull eyes, but it took a great amount of effort. "Now look here. I don't want to kill you, 'cause as far as I'm concerned it would be a waste of money. I didn't want to do this, you understand. You did this to yourself, but it's not too late. Now, normally I don't cut deals with your kind, but you are a hard case to be sure and you look like you need a lifeline." He grabbed the pliers off the crate and smiled menacingly. "Save yourself the trouble, boy, and tell me something that will bring your bitch owner down. Give me something good and I promise I'll go easy on you."

Sylar may have had a little trouble comprehending the entire conversation, but he was with it enough to get that he had been given an ultimatum, and he was not a man who appreciated ultimatums unless he was the one giving them. Through the fogginess of his eyes, a spark of defiant fire flickered and a ghost of a smile crossed his lips. "Why should I lie when I know that you're going to torture me to death regardless?"

Arthur shook his head in amusement. "This will hurt you more than it will me, boy."

Mohinder let his head fall into the hay as Sylar screamed as much as his limited oxygen supply would allow. He simply couldn't watch the horror unfold. True, he used to relish in the sound of Sylar's cries when it was him stabbing him in the neck with a needle, but now he just felt guilty for having been so remorseless. Peter's hazel eyes narrowed as he clenched his jaw. The man was nearly dead as it was, what good did it do to continue to torture him? He could have said anything about Maria, including the truth, to save himself but he didn't and his weak, strangled cries were heartbreaking.

Outside, Luke nearly dropped his axe when he heard the god-awful growling coming from the barn. He wanted nothing more than to go charging in with his axe and take a swing at Arthur for being such a dick, but West grabbed his arm to stop him. "We have to be smart about this. We need a big disturbance."

"Like what?" Luke asked exasperated. "He's killing him in there!"

West looked at the sky above and smiled. "Accidents happen all the time." He motioned for Luke to follow him to the house where they sneaked in. The house was dark and creepy, but he knew exactly what he was doing and he was surprised that the juvenile hall junkie accompanying him didn't think of the same thing or better. In the kitchen, he found a bottle of Everclear in the refrigerator, a dish towel, and matches.

"Molotov cocktail?" Luke asked with an appreciative nod. "Tried and true."

"Kind of." West shrugged while he stuffed the towel down the neck of the bottle and tipped it upside down to let the alcohol soak into the cloth. "I'm going for lightning strike, but whatever works."

The pair ducked under the kitchen table when Emily breezed through. "She's kind of hot." Luke whispered with a slight smile.

"Shut up." West commanded after the coast was clear. He made his way back out the front door to avoid bumping into Emily again and lit the cloth. He heaved the bottle with all his might through an upstairs bedroom window and they watched as thick black smoke gave way to bright flame. West had never done anything so anti-establishment before and it felt kind of good to be honest. Luke, on the other hand, was a little more jaded, but even he couldn't hide his excitement.

They ran to the barn, feigning concern. "Sir! Sir!" They called banging on the barn door to be heard over Sylar's agonized whimpers. "Sir! Your house is on fire!"

Arthur ripped the door open and looked over to his engulfed home. All the rain in the world wasn't enough to put it out. "Don't just stand there!" He barked running past them to join Emily who had made it out and was standing in the side yard looking confused. "Get a garden hose or buckets! One of you call the fire department. Get to it!"

West ran into the barn to get a bucket, pausing for just a second to watch Sylar still convulsing slightly while fresh, red blood trailed from his neck and down his back. His stomach turned as he looked around. "Hurry!" He commanded. "Get him out of here!"

Peter and Mohinder appeared from their hiding place in the loft and hustled down the ladder. "Thanks." Peter nodded genuinely while Mohinder pulled apart the shackles that held Sylar captive with brute strength. West's eyes went wide, but Peter shot him a stern look. "You didn't see anything, kid. Got it?"

Sylar slumped forward right into Mohinder's arms and he scooped him up easily as though he were a child despite his tall frame. "We should go." He noted turning his attention to West. "Tell your friend Luke that we appreciate his help as well as yours. Perhaps at a later time, Maria can repay your kindness."

West nodded numbly. He didn't know if he did the right thing in helping free Sylar, but he was sure of one thing: Claire was right. Peter Petrelli was a man who could be trusted and Maria did have something special going on at her place, It looked as though she was doing more than just getting slaves to Canada if what he witnessed actually happened. Somehow, she was giving abilities back to slaves. He didn't know how it was possible, but he hoped that someday he could find out.


	26. The Hard Part

**Chapter 26- The Hard Part**

Mohinder deftly ducked and weaved his way between the trees with skill and agility he could never hope to replicate without his ability. Carrying Sylar's dead weight and lanky frame took some getting used to and he tried his best to be careful, but despite it all one of his arms or legs would inevitably swing out and smack into a trunk rather gracelessly as he ran past. Thankfully, he didn't seem to notice or care. Every once in awhile, Mohinder would glance down at him to see his large eyes at half-mast, oddly looking without really seeing and it unnerved him. Sylar's eyes were never that lifeless and he wondered if they had come too late.

Peter dashed ahead to open doors and Matt held up the rear to be sure no one was following them until Mohinder bounded down the stairs of the lab and hastily deposited Sylar's broken body on the cold stainless steel table. Maria audibly gasped and held her hand to her mouth wide-eyed at the sight. No matter how she tried to prepare herself, she wasn't ready to see Gabriel as he was under the harsh halogen lights: his almost translucently pale skin and bruised lips made him look like a corpse in the morgue. Bloody lashes crisscrossed his body and it looked as though he had been bitten in the shoulder by a dog. Drops of crimson blood began to pool under his neck on the table and it oozed in a slow rivulet from his side. His eyelids fluttered slightly over his deep brown irises, giving her reassurance that he hadn't quite given up yet despite how bad it looked.

Matt watched him with a sense of horror and pity. If he was going to die, then he wished he would just get it over with to spare everyone from having to watch the long and drawn out process. One glance at Hiro and Ando and he knew he wasn't the only one who felt that way. He looked back to Sylar and furrowed his eyebrows. "Why is he gasping like that?" He asked Peter, who was in the middle of digging in his bag. "It's like only one side of his chest is moving."

Peter fished out his stethoscope and pursed his lips. "Because he can't breathe. I'm pretty sure he has a collapsed lung. Tall guys are more susceptible to that." He listened carefully, but there were no sounds to be heard on the left side of his chest and the right was very weak. Perhaps even more troubling was the irregular heartbeat that thumped erratically. "Shit." He muttered moving quickly to dig more items out of his bag. Maria was startled at his use of profanity. She never knew him to swear, so the situation must have been a true emergency to provoke such a response from him. "Mohinder, Matt, I need you guys to help hold him down."

"What are you going to do?" Matt asked somewhat worried. It wasn't like Sylar had the strength to fight him…well, much anyway.

"Chest tube." Peter replied grimly. He had done a few as a paramedic and he hated them. It wasn't that the procedure was technically difficult, but it was only done in extreme emergencies which meant there wasn't time for any anesthesia, and he hated inflicting more pain on his patients than they were already in. But if he didn't do something, Sylar could go into cardiac arrest or die of asphyxiation. He turned back to the table with a short length of tubing, tape, and a scalpel. It was the glint of the scalpel that got everyone's attention. "This isn't going to be pretty." He warned. "Mohinder, keep his shoulders down and try not to let him wiggle too much. Matt, get his legs."

Hiro couldn't watch and he hoped it wasn't too dishonorable to turn his back, but he just didn't have the stomach to watch Peter slice him open even if he knew deep down that it was absolutely necessary to save his life. Ando placed his hand on Maria's shoulder to share her anxiety of the surgery they were about to witness on her lab table while Matt and Mohinder pressed Sylar into the table with his arms over his head to give Peter more room to work. For his part, Sylar hardly protested, even when Peter scrubbed the side of his upper chest with cold alcohol to sterilize the skin. He put on his gloves and took a deep breath. "Ready?" He asked his companions. When he got nervous but unanimous nods, he pressed the sharp blade of the scalpel into his flesh to neatly separate the skin and muscle between Sylar's ribs.

Sylar made a feeble attempt to squirm away as he squinted and rolled his head to the side with a slightly pained expression on his face. "That wasn't so bad." Matt commented from his draped position across Sylar's thighs. He expected him to buck like a bronco.

Peter gave him a wary look. "That wasn't the hard part." He picked up his tubing and turned his attention to Sylar. "I'm sorry I have to do this, man. It will hurt like hell, but I promise you'll feel better when you can breathe again." He gave a 'get ready' nod to his helpers. In one quick motion, he stuck his gloved fingers into the incision to further separate the tissues and crammed the end of the tube into his chest cavity.

Sylar let out a strangled cry and bared his teeth while he tried his best to get away, but Matt and Mohinder clamped down harder to keep him from succeeding. Mohinder had to walk a fine line between keeping him still and pushing too hard and breaking his collarbones, but he tried to use the least amount of force necessary. As soon as Peter got the tube in, the internal pressure was released and blood drained out and spilled onto the floor, splashing up on his shoes. Ando and Maria watched in stunned horror, but Peter expected it and he ripped off a length of skin tape to secure the tube as the initial rush slowed to a trickle. "I know it sucks," he smiled down at his patient, "but it has to feel at least a little better." Sylar's eyes languidly followed the sound of his voice until his head lolled to the side in Peter's direction.

Sylar had no idea where he was or what was happening to him. He knew he was no longer in the barn, but was he on Level 5 again? How did that happen? The blindingly bright lights overhead made it difficult to fully open his eyes and the sterile smell of disinfectant induced a sense of panic and anxiety in him- especially when he felt them cut him open and…whatever else they did that hurt like hell. He heard more voices, but one in particular seemed familiar although he couldn't place it. He had the vague sense that the voice was someone he knew and maybe should have trusted, but he was apparently wrong. He tried once more to move, but it felt like lead bricks were piled on top of him and he was out of strength to keep fighting.

Peter once again listened for breath sounds and was pleased to hear at least some air moving in the damaged lung, but it was no cause for celebration. He clipped a pulse ox monitor to Sylar's index finger and took his temperature via his ear while he waited. He frowned and shook his head when he realized that his oxygen saturation levels were way too low and his temperature was too high. Despite all he could do, he simply didn't have the supplies he needed to truly help and he knew no hospital or doctor would treat him. Sylar's prospects were not good and it angered him. All of it could be easily fixed if he could get the proper treatment- but none of it would have happened in the first place if they weren't all caught up in the crazy system that denied them even the most basic human rights. He bitterly hated to admit defeat, but in the moment, the best that he could possibly do for him was to give him morphine to ease the pain and make him as comfortable as he could until the inevitable happened. Palliative care was better than letting him languish.

Sylar didn't try to fight the injection and Peter was glad for it. He hoped on some level through his delirium he would recognize that he was trying to help him, to give him a mercifully peaceful end, but he didn't know what he was truly aware of an what he wasn't. He was only mildly relieved when Sylar's eyes finally fluttered shut as he sank into unconsciousness. Never one to give up hope, Peter gave him just enough to help him sleep since he planned on seeing it through to the end and dressing his wounds no matter how futile it seemed. Sylar had pulled off the impossible before and he hoped he could somehow do it again. At any rate, he was going to give him every chance possible even though he knew they were very slim at best.

0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0

West and Luke stood panting in the yard, their soot covered faces and soiled wet clothing just making the misery worse. For the past hour, they tried their best to put out the fire but apparently Everclear was something like jet fuel and it just burned too hot for their primitive firefighting techniques of running buckets of water up and down the stairs one at a time. When it became clear that it was a lost cause, Arthur commanded them to stop trying to put out the fire and start removing what items they could, so they stood in the rain with a pile of soaking wet, smoke damaged possessions on the lawn while they watched the roof collapse. Luke chuckled as he watched the shower of sparks rise into the sky like a Roman candle. "West, you are an honorary badass." He proclaimed with a smile. "I thought you were kind of a pussy at first, but you're actually kinda cool."

West's smile stood out in contrast to his black smudged face. "Thanks…I guess."

"Sylar would think your awesome."

"Really?" He asked skeptically.

Luke laughed again. "No. Probably not, but we did save him so that's got to be worth something."

The fire department had arrived, but it was almost useless at that point. Their only mission was to control the fire so it didn't spread to other structures because the house itself was almost a total loss. Arthur was furious. Although it was his right to keep slaves and fairly well do whatever he wanted with them, he felt a strange need to keep Gabriel Gray a secret from the firemen. No matter his rights, some people would no doubt question his methods and he was determined to extract some kind of evidence from Maria's former slave to use against her before he died where he hung. He stormed past Luke and West into the barn to make sure his lottery ticket hadn't expired and perhaps take out a little bit of his frustration on him to keep him quiet. He didn't want the boy getting any ideas.

He stopped short at the sight of the gently swaying chain and the blood spattered straw under it. The spot was otherwise empty and he was dumbfounded. Gray was gone. Arthur slowly approached, trying to wrap his mind around how he could have possibly escaped. The cuffs were tight, he couldn't have wiggled out of them and even if he did, he couldn't have ran very far before collapsing. He smoothed his mustache as he examined one of the cuffs. It was mangled and bent until it was simply torn apart. He had never seen anything like it before in his life. In a flash of anger, he went back out into the storm with his remote in hand. "Where is he?" He roared at Luke and West. "How did he get away?"

West looked temporarily panic stricken at the sudden accusation but he stammered, "I don't know what you're talking about, Sir. Who got away?"

"Bullshit!" Arthur yelled, his face turning red. "The two of you were working by the barn. You had to have seen something!"

"I didn't see anything, Sir." He pleaded remembering Peter's stern warning. "I was chopping wood like you asked me to and then I saw smoke from your house so I came and got you."

"Don't make the biggest mistake of your life, son." He warned in a low voice. "Now I'm going to ask you again. Where is he?"

"I don't know who you're talking about, Sir." He held firm. "I was working with Luke. I didn't see anybody." Arthur held the remote toward them like a gun and it might as well have been. Luke fell to the ground in a heap, electricity coursing through his body while West was left watching helpless.

"Ok!" Luke pleaded. "Ok,…I'll…I'll tell you." He choked out between pained gasps. West held his breath. For someone who professed to be Sylar's friend, he was quick to roll over on him to save himself. After he caught his breath, he rolled over onto his back to feel the cool rain fall on his face. "I saw him." He confessed still panting lightly. "The guy that was in the barn. My axe was getting dull, so I went in there to look for another one and I saw him. I don't know how he did it, but he used telekinesis to pull his chains off. He told me he'd kill me if I told anyone that he had his powers back and he ran off toward the south. Except he wasn't running, he was floating like, so you won't find any footprints."

"How the hell did he have his ability?" Arthur asked incredulously.

"I don't know, Sir, but he did. I watched him use it. Maybe his chip failed." He had always been good at lying and he hoped his skills were enough to sway the owner and throw him off Sylar's trail. It never worked with Sylar himself, though, because he could tell when he was lying and that kind of sucked.

"Total chip failure is a one in a billion chance." He growled.

Luke shrugged as he lay in the mud, squinting up at Arthur. "There are 6 billion people on the planet. That means six people could have compromised chips. He might be one of them."

Arthur lowered his hand, dropping the threat of shocking Luke again. The boy did have a point and in the back of his mind, he suspected that he may have had something to do with it. All the times he used the pliers to pull on Gray's chip to torture him may have worked it loose enough to fail, or perhaps it could have short circuited or damaged the sensitive circuits. Still, the suppressant should have worked, but only if the reservoir was full. Gray had just been implanted and the drugs lasted for an average of 5 years unless…..

Arthur flipped through the menu screens of his remote and searched the government database of registered specials and to his ire, 'Gabriel Gray' turned up no results. Damn! He had an unregistered slave in his possession and he didn't even know it! The fact that he was unregistered meant he was chipped on the black market, a crapshoot of hardware integrity and technique. Any hack with a supply of cheap chips and a rudimentary knowledge of the nervous system could put one in and it appeared more likely that this was the case. If his chip wasn't working, there was no way to track him and no way to capture him even if he did without a hefty dose of suppressant tranquilizer.

It just wasn't his day. His house burned down and his lottery ticket turned out to be a million dollar jackpot- but he lost it.

0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0

Peter and Maria switched places at the table like two highly skilled dancers. Sensing the show was over, everyone had slowly filed out of the lab to either keep watch for Jessup or otherwise occupy themselves until something came of Sylar's condition- one way or the other- leaving the pair to do what they could for him and hope for the best. Sylar was laying awkwardly on his side, his long arm draped across his body and dangling over the side of the table while his hips twisted in the opposite direction. Peter had just finished sewing the wound at the base of his neck and bandaging the entry bullet wound in his lower back while Maria stuck to the simpler task of cleaning the many whip marks that crisscrossed his back like some sick roadmap. "Ready?" Peter asked placing his hand on Sylar's hip while Maria carefully cradled his head and shoulders and together they pushed and pulled him back into a prone position on the table. Maria gently rested his head on the table so as not to bump it too hard, not that he would be aware of it anyway, and the process started all over again.

Peter removed the chest tube now that Sylar's lung had expanded enough to function, and he began suturing the incision he made as Maria softly wiped away the blood on his face. Peter watched her as she worked and his mouth quirked into a smile. "You know he can't feel anything. You don't have to be so timid."

"I know." She laughed. She was grateful that Peter could finally break the tension with his humor. "I just…."

"I know." He nodded. "You don't want to hurt him any more than he is. I get it." His mood turned darker and he sighed. "I'm not going to lie to you, Maria. I don't think it makes a difference anymore."

"Don't say that!" She chided with a sharp look.

He expected as much and he couldn't blame her. In his field, he sometimes had to deliver bad news to families at the scene of an accident, but he firmly believed that although he had an obligation to try and save anyone he could, he also felt that they should be spared the agony of a prolonged death. Like it or not, death was a part of life and it wishing it away wouldn't make it so. He continued in a soft voice, "Before I was a paramedic, I was a hospice nurse. I know the signs of approaching death, and he's fought as hard as he could, but I think we have to face the fact that he's probably not going to make it. I'm sorry, Maria, I really am. Believe me, I can honestly say I did everything I could for him, but I don't think it's going to be enough."

"I know you have." She whispered. "I'm not blaming you. I'm just angry." Tears began to fall and Peter let her grieve. "I'm angry at Jessup for doing this to him. What did he do to deserve this?" She lightly squeezed Sylar's hand and ran her fingers through his hair as she cried. "And I'm angry at him for running away. Why did he do this to himself? Didn't he know what would happen?"

"I don't know." He replied quietly. "But you can't blame yourself, Maria." He moved on to the exit wound, cleaning the mud and dried blood away. "In the end it was his decision and nothing you or anyone else can do can change that."

She blinked the tears from her eyes and looked at Peter in desperation. "Of all the powers you have, don't you have anything that can help?"

It sounded accusatory, be he didn't take it that way. "I wish I did." The only way he could see his powers being useful would be to teleport to Claire, bring her back and somehow convince her to donate her blood to save the man she hated most. Her unlikely cooperation aside, he didn't know where she was exactly, which made getting to her difficult. He paused as he had a eureka moment. It was risky, but it would work. "You could give him the serum."

"What?" She asked confused. "How will telekinesis help him?"

Peter sighed heavily as he leaned on the table across from her. Although he tried his best to prevent things from coming to this point, he had to face the music. He glanced up at her with a guilty expression. "Maria," he said in a low tone, "there's something I have to tell you."


	27. I Can't Decide

**Chapter 27- I Can't Decide**

Maria had always implicitly trusted Peter. Never did he give her any reason not to, but something in his eyes told her that she wasn't going to like whatever he had to tell her. Like an impending hurricane, it would probably strip bare everything she thought she knew about the world. Her fingers nervously twirled Sylar's dark strands and it was clear that what started as a comforting gesture was now more for her benefit than his.

"I haven't been completely honest with you about Gabriel…or Sylar." He admitted. "I know a lot more about him than I've told you. We all do, and it was me that told them to keep it from you."

"Why?" She stammered in shock. "What about him?"

Peter licked is lips and took a deep breath before explaining. He wanted to frame his words carefully to finally come clean, but he didn't want to let her have it all at once. "Remember when Bryant told you that there were specials so powerful that they could watch the world burn and never suffer the consequences?" She nodded numbly. "He was talking about Sylar." He said flatly. "Not in a metaphorical sense, either. It was a direct reference."

She glanced down at the man she knew as Gabriel. He seemed so docile and almost angelic as he lay there, lightly breathing and seemingly so helpless. She had never known him to be violent or malevolent in the time he had been there. In fact, he was quite charming and friendly- at least to her. "Are you sure?" She asked incredulously. "He doesn't seem at all evil to me."

"I know." Peter granted reluctantly. "Here's the thing: I think it's his power. When he doesn't have it, he is capable of being a good person. But when he has them, it twists him into an entirely different person- Sylar. I know it sounds strange, but I had his ability for a short time and you know me, Maria, I normally can't hurt anyone without provocation." He paused and he seemed to have difficulty with what he was about to say. "I didn't even have it for a day and I broke his neck and almost cut my own mother's head off." Her eyes went wide with surprise at his confession. "It's almost like this entirely separate thing that controls you. It's dark and it drives you to hurt others. He can control it better than I did, but it still makes him very dangerous and it drives him to collect powers."

"Collect them?" She asked confused.

"He doesn't just have telekinesis. He's like me in that he can have a lot of powers at the same time, and he does, but he kills specials to get it. His ability is to figure out how things work. Once he does, the power is his, but he has to kill them to do it." That wasn't entirely true and he knew it. He knew Sylar had the capacity for empathy the same as he did, but he chose not to use it. He didn't want to tell her that because he was going to come off sounding bad enough as it was.

She looked sharply down at him again. "He kills people?" Suddenly the very same features that seemed angelic just seconds before took on a more sinister tone.

"That's how he collects the powers he gets." Peter explained. "And one of the powers he has is regeneration, which is why the serum will work if you give it to him." He drummed his fingers on the table and muttered, "He got that one from Claire."

"He killed Claire?" She paused and realized the paradox. "Well, if she wasn't able to regenerate he would have killed her."

"Right."

"If what he wants is powers, has he tried to kill you?" She asked concerned. "I would think he would go after you since you have so many."

Peter unexpectedly smiled. "He tried the first time I met him and he kind of did…accidentally. Thankfully, Mohinder was able to knock him out or something. I don't really remember it because I was laying on the floor with a huge shard of glass in the back of my head." He noted her absolute confusion and he cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Anyway, maybe someday I can tell you all about it, but now's not the time. All you need to know for now is that he will heal if you give him his powers back. But if he does get them back, he is almost invincible and he is very dangerous."

"Will he kill me?" She asked almost sadly. She hoped that after all she had done for him he would have the courtesy to allow her to live.

"No." He said with a good degree of conviction. "I know it sounds cold, but you don't have anything he wants. You aren't special. But I can almost promise you that he will get revenge on Arthur. I know him well enough to say that he will want his blood for making him suffer like he did." He squinted and added, "I know you don't really see it in him, but Sylar is a machine. He is calculating and controlled, but if he wants revenge he will not be merciful."

She resumed stroking his hair as she looked blankly at him. "So either I do nothing and let Gabriel die or I give him the serum knowing Sylar will kill others."

"Yeah." Peter nodded. "But there's something else you should know, and believe me, I wish I wasn't the one to have to tell you this but I think you deserve to know the truth."

"How much worse can it be?" She asked sarcastically. "You are asking me to decide if he should live or die. Isn't that bad enough?"

"It is a little unfair, and I will support you whatever you decide, you know that. But I think you should have all the information before you come to a conclusion."

"Tell me he has done some good things in his life." She pleaded. "He can't be all bad."

"He did save my life. It's another long story about what led up to it, but he did save me from falling seven stories to my death. And there's more. Mohinder and I went over to Jessup's to get him and we watched Arthur torture him." The memory was almost too disturbing to recall, but he thought she should know. "Arthur is suspicious of you, Maria. He wanted Sylar to give you up, but he refused. He had the opportunity to tell him what he wanted to hear to spare himself some of this." He made a sweeping gesture over Sylar's battered body. "But he didn't do it even though he knew it would mean more prolonged pain that he was in no condition to take. So yeah, he has done some good things." Sylar's reputation was such that people often forgot the good things he did and focused on his legacy of mayhem.

His smile faded from his lips and he lowered his head. "But he's done some very bad things too." He took another deep breath in preparation for the bomb he was about to drop. "He killed Bryant." As soon as the words left his lips, he swore there was a seismic shift in the Earth's gravity field. It was such a heavy and burdensome secret he had been carrying and now it was out, but he didn't know how to feel about it. He certainly didn't feel any relief.

Maria froze with her hand resting on Sylar's fevered forehead in mid-stroke. "What…Peter…but…" She was completely unable to finish her thoughts. It was just too much to process. She let her hand fall to the table next to his face and she just sat there staring at him in utter disbelief. "How…why did…"

Peter reached across Sylar's still body and placed his warm hand on hers. "I'm so sorry, Maria." He meant every word of it. He hated to see her crushed as she was and he knew he had no right to keep such a thing from her while she became so attached to Gabriel. He didn't think things would end up as they did. "Sylar killed Bryant to get his power, but he was unsuccessful because Bryant got the last word and convinced him to stab him before he could take it."

"How do you know this?" She gasped. She felt sick at the revelation.

"Maria, I don't think you want to know details." He warned.

"Tell me!" She demanded with fire in her eyes. "Godamn it, Peter! You lied to me and even now you won't tell me the truth. How dare you!"

Her words felt like a slap in the face, but he knew he deserved it. "I didn't lie to you." He replied, his hazel eyes full of sorrow and misery. "I didn't tell you everything because I wanted to protect you from the truth. It was wrong, I know, but I just thought that you had suffered enough. I didn't want to see you hurt anymore." Her eyes softened somewhat, but he knew she hadn't completely forgiven him and he couldn't blame her. "If you have to know, Sylar cuts open his victim's head with his telekinesis and he examines their brain to figure out how that person's ability works."

"Bryant's head was partially cut open." She recalled.

"Yeah. Sylar was close to getting what he wanted, but he impaled him with the branch. He never does that, which is why I think Bryant used his ability one last time to deny him what he wanted. He also uses his telekinesis to levitate and manipulate the objects he uses so he never leaves fingerprints or footprints. " He said softly. "But aside from that, he told me he did it."

She looked down at Sylar's pale face with something approaching contempt. "He confessed to killing him?"

"Yeah." He confirmed quietly. "He's a complicated person, Maria. No one's entirely good or bad and he's no exception." After several minutes of her sitting quietly and staring at her husband's murderer, he got up the courage to ask, "So what are you going to do?"

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**A/N: Mwahhh! So, I have always wanted to do this: for those of you old enough to remember the "Choose your own adventure" books- I am letting you dear readers be Maria and decide Sylar's fate! I made sure he was asleep so he couldn't use his puppy dog eyes to try and persuade you 'cause we all know he would win. **

**There is supposed to be a poll on my profile page, but *shrug* or you can just vote via review! Cheers!**


	28. So Alive

**A/N: Wow. You guys are FAR more merciful than I would have been if I were Maria. Only one person chose not to take sides, but the rest of you were very clear. You have spoken and I appreciate you taking the time to voice your opinions! **

**Chapter 28- So Alive**

"Maria?" Peter gently prompted. "I know it's a big decision and I don't mean to rush you, but he's dying. You have to make up your mind."

She may not have had Peter's medical experience, but even she could see that. His breaths were becoming even more faint and erratic- much too slow to sustain his life. He had lost so much blood that his skin had a sickly pale pallor and his lips and fingernails were undeniably turning blue. His body was failing and he was slipping away, that much was certain. Now she just had to decide whether or not she would snatch him back from the brink of death. She had the means, but she wasn't sure if he deserved it.

Even though her absolute trust in Peter had been somewhat broken, she still believed him when he said that the man expiring before her very eyes was a complicated person. She never knew him as Sylar, but looking back she couldn't deny that there were warning signs that she turned a blind eye to. She remembered the episode in the kitchen on his first day of work and the odd sense she got from his mesmerizingly dark eyes. She didn't know then what exactly it was that she was looking at, but now it seemed it was a glimpse of the dark side of a killer. She didn't know to be afraid of him then, but now it made sense.

And later that day when he asked about Bryant's death, he already knew the answer. Why did he bother then? Was it to relive the moment or was it something else? Peter told her he was unsuccessful in getting Bryant's power. Did he ask her because he felt remorse for what he had done- especially after meeting her and seeing the consequences of his actions? Was he testing the waters to see if there was any possibility that she could ever forgive his murderer? She reached over and gently pulled back one of his eyelids to reveal his deep brown, unfocused eye and she sighed. This was perhaps the biggest test of all.

And what did Noah know? When he met Gabriel at dinner that night, he said the two had 'a history' and that he'd been watching him for quite some time. Did he know he was a killer and opt not to tell her this basic fact? She assumed that Noah meant the government was watching him, but if he wasn't registered that couldn't have been the case- she knew that now. From what little Peter had the time to tell her, it seemed the relationships between him, Noah, Mohinder, and Gabriel went back much longer and were much more deeply intertwined than she imagined them to be.

But he was more than that. She remembered his soft and easy smiles when Peter questioned him about his history with women's affections regarding Emily or when she complimented him on being intelligent. Or the time she herself delivered her watch for him to fix and she expressed perhaps too much concern for his wellbeing, and he was slightly embarrassed by the attention and shyly demurred. None of it seemed forced or contrived, and he did work hard for her when he could have slacked off or flat out refused. She remembered him studying her library with a sense of awe, and now she knew why he liked 'complex projects' that better held his attention, but all in all he was a soft spoken and charming man who never seemed to want to harm anyone.

And then there was Peter's account of what happened at Jessup's barn. She moved her hand from his now cooling forehead to his bottom lip and examined the deep bite mark that permeated the surface in a broken, angry, bluish red line. He could have lied, or told the truth, or said anything Arthur wanted to hear to make the pain stop, but he didn't. Why? Was it some misplaced sense of atonement or did he feel some kind of loyalty for her? Did he see value in her cause even though he likely wouldn't live to benefit from it? Was he just being stubborn and defiant to the end to deny Arthur any kind of pleasure? Whatever his motivation, he chose to keep her secret and he clearly paid the price for it.

She couldn't believe that everyone around her knew about Gabriel, but never told her who he was or what he was capable of. Although she was still angry at Peter for his omission, she appreciated that he had good intentions in his heart to spare her from more grief. If she had never met Gabriel and news came that he had been caught and punished for his crime, it would have brought a sense of closure. But as it was, she was going to have to be the one to save him despite the awful atrocity he committed. She knew she didn't have it in her. At one time she may have had compassion for him, but at her core she hated him for destroying everything she loved when he killed her husband for his own selfish gain. Bryant's death didn't come as a result of self-defense, necessity, or even mercy. She could have understood any of those motivations, but it was simply greed.

She fully understood Peter's explanation that Gabriel and Sylar were not one and the same and now she knew why he didn't want anyone on the outside hearing the name 'Sylar' from the outset. She would not have hesitated to save Gabriel, the man she had known and come to care for during the past week, but she knew that she would be resurrecting Sylar- the calculating killer- and she had a hard time bringing herself to do it. She tried to think of Bryant and what he would want her to do. She knew that all along he developed the suppressant to control people like Sylar because even he thought they deserved to live rather than be exterminated. He was a lot like Peter in that he had an unshakeable faith in a better world, but he was a realist that some would need to be tightly controlled and monitored.

"Maria?" Peter called with raised eyebrows. Sylar's respiration had become almost non-existent and his skin was getting cold. He didn't know the limits of the serum, but he doubted it would bring anyone back from the dead.

"Peter." She looked up at him with weary, almost despondent eyes. "Do you think he will ever change? Will he always be a killer?"

Peter squinted while he thought about how to answer. "I don't know." He admitted. "The future isn't set in stone and anything can change it, but I can tell you about one possibility I saw. Remember I told you that I had his ability at one point? I had to travel to the future to get it, and in the future I saw he was a good man. He still had the dark drive I told you about, but he kept it in check for the sake of his son."

"He had a son?" She asked with a faint smile. She didn't know about Sylar, but she could see Gabriel being a loving parent. Didn't she have evidence before her very eyes of his ability to self sacrifice?

"Yeah," Peter grinned remembering the scene he stumbled in on, "he was a good father, too. He made waffles for him and was pouring syrup on them when I got there." He didn't want to tell her how he witnessed the death of his boy and blew up Costa Verde in his grief, but he felt he answered her question sufficiently. "As long as he has his ability that urge will never go away, but I do believe that he can be a better person. Maybe if he has people like you and me to encourage him, he can change. I don't think he's had much of that in his life, but it's never too late."

His optimism sounded like Bryant speaking directly to her. She didn't know if she could ever forgive him for what he did or be a moral guide the way Peter thought he needed, but she felt the best way to honor her husband's memory was to show mercy. He wouldn't have wanted his murderer to die, that wouldn't solve anything and it wouldn't bring him back. If Sylar could become the man Peter saw in the future, she could live with the fact that she had her chance for retribution but let it go if any good at all could come of it.

"Ok." She nodded, resigned to her decision. "Give it to him."

"Are you sure?" He double checked as he bolted for the cabinet that held the serum vial. "Once he has his powers, there will be no going back. Whatever he did to get caught, he won't do it again." He hastily drew up a large dose and added in a low voice, "And you know he will go directly to Jessup's." He didn't outright say that he was going to slaughter them, but they both knew that's what he meant.

"I know. That's why I want you to restore your powers as well." He looked blankly at her while he tapped the syringe to void the air inside. "If he's as temperamental as you say he is, I would feel a little better if you could keep an eye on him. It sounds like you would be the only one with half a chance to stop him."

"He's not going to trash the place, Maria." He clarified. "He's not out of control. Quite the opposite- he's all control which makes it difficult to stop him when he's hyper-focused on his target. You'll see what I mean when he wakes up, but if it will make you feel better..." He injected himself with the dose initially intended for Sylar and he immediately drew up another before pausing. "Wait- his chip's still active. Do you think it will make a difference?"

"I don't know." She shrugged. "We never tested it that way." She ran up the stairs to retrieve her remote. "Better not take any chances."

"Hurry." Peter warned, debating if he should start CPR just to ensure he would live long enough to get the injection. Always one to err on the side of caution, he hopped up on the table with the filled syringe between his teeth and straddled Sylar to start chest compressions. It was kind of awkward, but the table was too high for him to apply adequate downward pressure otherwise. He was ever so grateful that he was unconscious because he just didn't know how Sylar would take it should he wake up. He got through two full compression cycles before Maria returned and deactivated his chip.

She watched as Peter continued to press down on Sylar's chest with one arm while he skillfully injected the serum into an artery in his neck with the other hand. When the needle was empty, he dropped it on the floor and returned to using both hands to artificially force his patient's heart to beat to circulate blood along with the serum throughout his body. "C'mon." He growled as a light sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead from the effort. "You'd better not die on us now, you evil bastard. I'll never forgive you for it, you know that."

"Is there anything I can do?" She asked worried. She wanted to help, but she didn't want to get in his way either.

"Not really." He grumbled. His arms were starting to ache, but he couldn't stop and he knew it. "Wait! Yes there is! Get the epi-pen out of my bag!" She rifled through the kit until she found what he wanted and rushed it to him. He smiled at his own ingenuity. "Abilities work on adrenaline. This should be enough to kick start his system." He plunged the needle deep into Sylar's chest and immediately jumped off before he was thrown off.

Sylar jumped slightly and rolled his head towards them. Ever so slowly, he began to move: first his fingers traced the cold stainless steel table under him, then his chest began to rise and fall with more regularity and stronger respirations, and then the corner of his mouth twitched a few times. Just as with Peter and Mohinder, it took a few moments for the serum to permeate his body, but once it did, his regeneration was the first ability to noticeably manifest. Maria watched in fascination as the many whip marks on his chest slowly faded away right before her eyes and the bite mark on his shoulder became a distant memory. His damaged lip once again became smooth and full and overall his features seemed to grow slightly younger and healthier. The paleness of his skin flushed pink with color as his body replaced his lost blood volume at a frantic pace. In a matter of minutes, he had gone from the brink of death to looking in better condition than she had ever seen him and all traces of what had nearly killed him were gone, leaving behind fresh, pink, healthy skin. No one could have ever guessed that anything had ever happened to him and it was nothing short of a miracle. And then he slowly opened his eyes.

Maria wasn't prepared for that moment. His eyes, once a smooth chocolate brown, were now almost black and there was an otherworldly hardness to them- predatory and cold. It gave her chills when he glanced at her across from him. Any trace of the man she knew was gone and now she got a sense of his true power. What had she done?

A faint smile ghosted across his lips when he realized he was whole again, complete- he could feel it in every fiber of his being. He was back although he wasn't entirely sure how it happened and frankly, he didn't care. He sat up and smiled grandly, filled with the familiar sense of invincibility that he longed for. Still, just for confirmation, he looked down at his hand and watched it dance with blue electricity and his smile grew wider still. Fully satisfied, he hopped down off the table and looked back at the blood smeared surface with a sense of disgust. It was his blood, that much he knew, but when he spotted the discarded needle on the floor his eyes darkened. He remembered the feeling of being cut open and the smell of the alcohol and he glared at Peter and Maria. _You did that to me? I didn't think you had it in you to use your slaves as guinea pigs, or is it just me?_

Luckily, Peter was reading his thoughts to maintain a handle on the situation. "No, Sylar, you're wrong. We saved your life. Yes, I had to cut you open, but it was to keep you from dying." He bit his lip and gave him a serious look. "Am I lying? You would know."

He wasn't lying. He never did and that was the thing with Peter. He might not volunteer the whole truth, but he didn't lie about anything directly, which thwarted his detection ability. But how did he know what he was thinking…unless… Maria could almost see the gears turning in Sylar's mind as he tilted his head slightly. "I was in Jessup's barn. How did I get here?"

"It was a group effort." Peter replied darkly. "One that we still have to figure our way out of once he realizes you're gone."

Sylar regarded them in silence for a moment. In that time, Maria tried to read the expression on his face, but she couldn't tell if it was guarded gratitude or complete indifference. He was more or less unreadable and it unnerved her. "Well then," he said in a low voice as he removed the bloodied bandages over his gunshot wounds, "I suppose I should go see him. Let him know that I'm ok." His wicked smirk made his intentions clear enough. "The only question is, do I shower now or should I just head on over there knowing I will have to shower again anyway?"

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**Sylar, by (almost) unanimous vote you have been granted a stay of execution by a jury of your peers. Now be a good boy and flash them a pretty smile before you go on your way to dish out your delicious vengeance. **

**Thanks again for playing along!**


	29. It's On

**Chapter 29- It's On**

"_You think the way you live's okay  
>You think posing<br>Will save the day  
>You think we don't see<br>That you're running  
>Better call your boys<br>'Cause I'm coming…_

_You think that you don't have to ever quit  
>You think that you can get away with it<br>You think the light won't be ever lit  
>It's almost over now"<em>

"_Rock Star"- N.E.R.D_

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Sylar opted to shower first. No matter his desire for revenge, personal hygiene took precedence- he had priorities and standards after all, and he wanted to look his best for his visit to Arthur and Emily Jessup. He would be the last thing they ever saw before they took their final breath. The walk from the house to the quarters was almost too far for him to bear the feeling of contamination from dried blood, dirt, the smell of horses, and days old unwashed clothing. Thankfully it was still raining, giving him a brief sense of reprieve. He only remembered feeling worse on one occasion of his life: for the brief period he remembered being drug through the sewer at Kirby Plaza bleeding profusely from a viscous stab wound. Then, just as now, someone behind the scenes saw it fit to rescue him from the brink of death and he smiled. Lightning really did strike twice.

He entered the quarters to see the gang sitting around the table staring at him slack jawed as though he were Jesus resurrected. He didn't blame them, in a way he was. He smirked at them in a cocky manner when their shock failed to subside.

"Sylar," Hiro finally spit out, "you…you…"

"I'm back…._again_." He confirmed in a low tone with a slight nod. "Don't worry, I won't be staying long."

"This can't be." Mohinder sighed, dropping his head into his hands. "They gave you the serum, didn't they?"

"Maybe." He mumbled as he made his way to his room. The truth was, he didn't exactly know what they did, but he suspected it was something along those lines. He always wondered what went on in the locked room Maria clearly didn't want him in. The empty syringe on the floor looked suspicious and Peter's uncanny ability to read his thoughts could only mean that he had his powers as well. All that time, did everyone but him have them? The thought of being excluded vexed him somewhat, but no matter. The only moment that truly mattered was the here and now and he never felt better.

He peeled off his blood stained jeans and mourned the fact that they were more or less new and he had to throw them away already. He rather liked them and they fit fairly well, a small feat for a guy his height, but there would be no getting the copious amount of his spilled blood out of them and it was a lost cause. The hot water felt delicious on his skin- even the patches of new growth that were still a little sensitive. The heat wrapped him in a strange sense of comfort and security. He was finally safe again after so long trying to survive without his abilities to protect him. He felt as though he had so much to wash away: the blood, dirt, the sense of helplessness, the suffering, he had to rid himself of all of it and get his mind right for what lie ahead.

He slid his soapy hands over his lithe body, outwardly perfect although in his mind he still bore the scars of his detainment, gently scrubbing away what blood Peter or Maria didn't get. He knew that no matter how good his healing ability was, it would never erase the memories of his ordeal. He would have to live with that forever and it would probably haunt his dreams for the foreseeable future, but he would use that sense of misery to fuel his determination. He was adept at projecting a sense of calm even when he was uncertain and he would continue to do so. He would never let anyone else know that he was secretly distressed, but how could he not be after all he had endured? Under it all he was still a human, albeit a super powered one, but he was no robot that was entirely devoid of all emotion. Sometimes people forgot that, but he didn't correct them because in the end it usually served his purpose to let them think he was a monster.

As the steaming water spilled over his neck and down his toned shoulders and back, he pondered Maria's motivations. People never helped him without it being part of a bigger plan and he couldn't guess what hers was. He wondered if she would try to avenge her husband's death somehow if she ever found out that he did it. She would be ridiculously outmatched, but he could understand her desire and he decided that he wouldn't kill her for trying- at least not as long as she was wildly unsuccessful. If she managed to come close, he would have to reconsider his position. He was almost certain that Peter had something to do with his miraculous recovery. Only he would let ethics get in the way of supreme irony, but it was to his benefit so he thought it best not to complain. Any other time the bleeding heart empath's seemingly complete lack of logic would annoy the hell out of him, but on this occasion he had other things to contemplate.

He had a definite agenda to fill and the first order of business was Jessup. He wasn't in a particular hurry because he knew that he more or less had forever, but he wouldn't make him wait that long. Sylar was known to be an exceedingly patient man. He never rushed into anything and he could hold out for weeks before taking action if he had to in order to craft the perfect plan, but he knew that in this case he had to act fast before things fell apart for everyone. It wasn't that he particularly cared about Peter or Maria, and certainly not the rest, but they did save his life and although he would never directly thank them for their efforts, he felt some small urge to get his business over with so they could go on living their lives in the crazy system they chose to remain in.

After he was finished, he would head directly to Canada to wait it out until his homeland came to their senses. He would be more careful this time, but he would definitely use his abilities to get himself there. Perhaps he would even travel to Europe. He had never been there, but sipping espresso and tasting fine foods in an outdoor café sounded appealing. He never really tried, but he imagined learning new languages would be fairly easy given his ability to integrate new phonetic systems and language rules. During his time with Maya and her pesky brother, he didn't entirely understand Spanish but he was just starting to somehow pick up the meaning of their conversations- even though he pretended not to. Aside from the cultural experience it would afford him, it would be an entirely new hunting ground and he was all for broadening his horizons. 

Feeling much better now that he was thoroughly clean and freshly shaven, he got dressed in his usual dark clothing. It wasn't just his personal style, it was highly practical for the purposes of sneaking around in shadows and hiding blood. Try as he might not to touch his victims, inevitably blood would sometimes fly and spatter all over the place. Dark colors hid the stray backsplash and that was important if he was in New York and perhaps looking at a 45 minute commute across the city on the packed subway after acquiring a new ability. If he wore white, someone might notice…or think he was an actor in some off Broadway horror musical, but he didn't want to take the chance or engage in unwanted conversations with tourists who didn't get the 'keep your head down and your mouth shut' code pervasive of the city's citizens. There were just too many varieties of crazy on display on a daily basis to comment on each one and true New Yorkers knew this, so there was an unspoken collective agreement to just ignore it and mind your own business.

He smiled when he noticed a familiar friend wake from a nap on his bed. Iago stood, stretching gracefully while he yawned, flashing his tiny yet very sharp teeth. "Did I wake you?" He asked amused as he sat on the edge of the bed to put on the boots he cleaned. Surprisingly they weren't that dirty considering his first trek through the woods. He assumed the ground was even more muddy since the rain never stopped, but he couldn't stand the thought of looking sloppy so he entertained the possibility of levitating himself all the way to Jessup's just to keep clean. Iago approached and butted his head against his arm in a bid to get the human to pet him. Sylar grinned and lightly scratched the cat behind his ears. "So it's come to this." He nodded. "You hissed at me the first time we met and now that you need me to do something for you, you're my friend." The irony wasn't lost on him. "I guess I understand. It happens to me all the time. But after this you are on your own. I probably won't be back."

He grabbed a black lightweight overcoat and headed out the door, but the smell of freshly baked bread stopped him in his tracks. His stomach grumbled loudly and he saw no harm in adding eating to the top of his to-do list. Arthur could wait a few more minutes and although it wouldn't bother him in the slightest to eat while he was killing, he really tried to avoid exacting revenge on an empty stomach. There was no telling how long he would toy with them before finally ending their lives, so he wanted to be fully nourished for the test of endurance that lie ahead.

Ando couldn't help but stare at him in wonder. Not more than an hour before, he was lifeless and unconscious, nearly exsanguinated and barely breathing and there he was walking around as if nothing happened- leaning against the counter eating an apple while he waited for Mohinder's cheddar rolls to cool. Sylar caught him gawking and his perfectly arched eyebrow quirked up in a menacing gesture. Ando wanted to look away, but he was just too stunned to move.

"So," Matt grumbled miserably. "you're welcome. Not that you were going to thank us anyway."

Sylar locked his eyes on him, chewing slowly. Wasn't it just a day ago that he threatened to physically assault him? _And now who's the big man again, Parkman?_ _The headmaster's in the house and you don't want me taking you to school, although you could do with a remedial lesson in respect or simple common sense…_ He smirked and took another bite of his apple.

"So will you be on your way, then?" Mohinder asked sarcastically. "Now that you have what you wanted, are you just going to go off into the night until the time comes when you require something else?"

He looked at the geneticist blankly. When he spoke, his tone was typically acidic. "Would you like me to stay and play house with you? As I remember, you don't play well with others unless you consider poisoning your dinner guests proper etiquette. Really, Mohinder, I thought you had better manners."

Mohinder scoffed. "It is you who does not play well with others, Sylar. And were it not for me, you wouldn't be standing there to display your typical ingratitude." He noted the split second curious hesitation in his eyes and he laughed. "That's right, my friend. It was I who freed you from your chains and carried your limp body a mile through the woods to Maria's lab. And I'll tell you something else," he casually tossed the oven mitts he wore onto the counter, "I also helped develop the serum that restored your abilities. So don't act as though you have some sense of moral superiority. You murdered my father and I have repaid your kindness by saving your life, as has Maria apparently. I can't speak for Peter or anyone else here, but I for one have done my good deed for you and I won't be so willing to lend my assistance next time you find yourself in trouble."

If his words had any effect, Sylar didn't show it. His facial expression never changed and he had the maddening habit of wearing several of them simultaneously so as to confuse the person before him. He may have been somewhat remorseful, he could have been angry, or maybe he didn't even hear a word he said- no one would ever know and that was typical of him to be so cryptic. So long as Peter didn't show up, he could have slaughtered them all without much difficulty and made an ability buffet, but he didn't want to waste his time and as it happened, Peter walked through the door. Sylar wondered if his consistently showing up at the most inopportune time was an ability unto itself. If it was, he surely didn't want it.

Peter didn't need his powers to detect the thick tension in the room. He glanced around and everyone seemed to be present, accounted for and unharmed, which meant he was just in time. He warily glanced at Sylar, who was already wearing his coat. "Ready to go?" He asked with a sense of dread in his voice.

Sylar's eyes hardened. "You aren't going with me." He flatly announced. "I don't need a Boy Scout chaperone."

Peter held his gaze with determination. "I'm going just the same." When Sylar didn't budge, he lightly shrugged and widened his eyes for emphasis. "You can't stop me from following you. I know what you're going to do and I'm not going to stop you."

"Then why follow me? Are you eager to see a bloodbath?" He knew that was the last thing Peter wanted to see, but he couldn't help trying to make him feel uncomfortable.

"I'm going to make sure only those that were responsible get what's coming to them." He replied quietly. "Some people over there helped us save you. They don't deserve your wrath."

Sylar glared at him. Petrelli could be a real pain in the ass, but he also knew he was right. They were almost evenly matched power for power and although he had more control over them, there was the mysterious X factor that Peter had that allowed him fight like a caged tiger if he had to, and he saw a glint of that animal in his hazel eyes. Sylar's mouth formed a hard line of displeasure and he grabbed one of Mohinder's muffins before stalking out the door with Peter in tow.

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Luke sat with West on the pile of logs they had chopped, so soaked and dirty that they no longer cared about possible splinters. Things really couldn't get much worse. Well, it could have, but it seemed that for the time being Arthur bought Luke's explanation for Sylar's escape. The distraction they caused made finding any tracks nearly impossible since people were running in and out of the barn to try and put out the fire. They just hoped it was enough.

"Do you think they made it?" West whispered with a worried look on his face. He really hated to think that it was all for nothing.

Luke rubbed the back of his neck. That was the first time he had ever been shocked and he couldn't have anticipated the mind-blowing amount of pain it induced. Now Sylar's screams took on a whole new dimension for him. "I don't know. You're the one who said we should trust your girlfriend's uncle….what's his name…Patrick?"

"Peter." West laughed.

"Whatever." Luke mumbled miserably letting his hand fall into his lap with a wet 'splat.' He chuckled a little as he recalled, "Man, those guys hustled like commandos. It was like they had done that a time or two before."

West knew a little bit about Primatech and the operations that went on there. It was a simple matter of drawing a line from Claire to her father to Peter to assume that he might have had some experience with the facility as well. Maybe he did have some practice with quick getaways. "They might have."

Luke gazed into the forest directly ahead of him for lack of anything better to focus on. Just past the tree line he thought he saw a figure lurking. "West," he hissed, "I think they're back." His stomach sank. There was only one reason they would come back so soon and risk being discovered- to tell them that Sylar died. He caught a glimpse of him as he hung languidly in one of the men's arms when they carried him out and he swore he was already dead then.

West squinted to better see into the darkness. "No, that's not them. I don't know who that is." The proportions of the figure were all wrong to be Peter or the other two men he met.

The figure inched closer and Luke's face lit up. "No way!" He laughed when he finally recognized who it was. He'd know that profile anywhere. "Dude, it's Sylar!"

"Can't be." West shook his head, still squinting. And then he remembered what he witnessed in the barn. If that man had super strength, maybe somehow Sylar had his powers back too- and he knew one of them to be regeneration thanks to Claire. He debated if he should tell Luke, but Peter stressed to him not to say anything and he got the distinct impression that he wasn't playing, so he kept quiet.

"Oh…" Luke was giddy with anticipation, "it's _so_ on now!"


	30. I Am Become Death

**Chapter 30- I Am Become Death**

"_When they finally come what will you do to them? Gonna decimate them like you did to me? _

_Will you leave them stunned and stuttering?_

_When they finally come out will you handle them? Will you devastate them deliberately?  
>Cause I'm gonna guess they won't be prepared for the 1000 Fahrenheit hot metal lights behind your eyes. Invincible! Your invincible!<em>

_That crushing crashing atom smashing white hot thing, it's invincible!_

_So please, use your powers for good!"_

"_Invincible"-Ok Go_

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Sylar casually strolled out into the clearing without a care as to who spotted him. He was on a personal mission and anyone who had anything to do with his detention would soon be dead anyway, so he felt no need for stealth. Quite the contrary, he didn't want to sneak up on anyone- he wanted them to see him clearly as he exacted his revenge.

Peter, however, was a bit more cautious simply out of habit. He knew full well Sylar had a laser lock on Arthur and Emily, but he wouldn't hesitate to dispatch anyone who impeded his progress. So he took it as his duty to make sure that didn't happen and intervene if he had to in order to keep Sylar from killing anyone who was too dumb or scared to get out of his way. Not many people had actually seen him in person and lived to tell about it, so a few deer in the headlights moments were to be expected.

The first two young bucks they encountered were seated slack jawed on a pile of freshly chopped wood. Sylar paused when he recognized Luke and his jaw clenched tight as he squinted slightly in irritation. West was completely terrified and convinced that this was going to be his one and only encounter with the now fully lucid and legendary Sylar. He could now see why Claire both feared and hated him so much, but at least she was guaranteed to survive. Sylar leisurely approached them and stared down at Luke with an intensity that made West wonder just how well he really did know him. It didn't appear that Sylar felt he was exactly his BFF the way Luke made it sound.

"Sylar," Luke laughed nervously, "good to see you again. I see you're doing well."

The rain fell and dripped off his short, dark hair and directly onto Luke as he towered over him. He blinked slowly and his eyes seemed to soften just a bit. In a low tone bordering on boredom he simply said, "Go home, Luke."

"No way, dude!" Luke protested. "That's total bullshit. That's what you said last time and look what happened to me! I helped you, man. I helped you find your father and you left me at that old diner." Sylar visibly stiffened at the mention of his father, but Luke pressed on despite the nervous warning glances from West. "I helped you this time, too. The least you owe me is to let me help you take this jerk down. He's just like your father, you know."

Sylar's wrist flicked and Luke went flying against the side of the barn while Peter kept a close eye on him, ready to intervene if he tried to hurt him. The kid may have been stupid to keep antagonizing him like he was, but he was still innocent. Sylar held him against the wall and got as close as he could without actually touching him. His voice was eerily calm. "I don't owe you anything, and I don't need your help." He nearly growled. "Now go back to where you came from and stop pretending that you know me."

"Let it go, Luke." West pleaded. "He doesn't want you here. Let's just go."

"You should listen to your friend." Sylar agreed. "I let you live once. I may not be so merciful again." He held him for just a second longer before letting him drop in a heap as he turned his back to walk away.

"Fuck that!" Luke yelled spitefully as he struggled to get to his feet. "_You_ are just like your dad! He was an asshole and so are you." Peter watched anxiously as Sylar stopped in his tracks and slowly closed his eyes with a small sigh. Certain he was going to retaliate, he tilted his head and concentrated on his thoughts. _I'm not like him, I'm much worse. Please shut up- don't make me kill you. I don't want to, but I will…_

"Do what he says, kid." Peter warned. He looked at West to make a direct appeal. "Take your friend and go back to your owner." West was more than happy to comply, but it took a little coaxing to get Luke to follow. He was clearly crushed that Sylar didn't sufficiently recognize his contribution and Peter understood, but he didn't realize just how close he came to becoming a casualty. He knew that Sylar's father was a sore point for him, but he didn't know the full story. What he did know was that there was a pervasive yet paradoxical sense of sadness, anger, and resigned indifference coming from Sylar, although on the surface nothing had changed.

Silently, Sylar continued on to the barn where he was found, doing what he always did: channeling the turmoil he experienced into a focused beam of concentration to achieve his objective. He opened the door with the twitch of a finger, walked in past the horses, and stopped at the spot where he remembered hanging. The chain still swung from the rafters, ready to ensnare its next victim. He only briefly glanced at the sheared cuffs that once painfully encircled his wrists and the matted hay where he knelt. His once bright red blood had oxidized into a rusty brown on the straw. He took in the sight with a strange sense of detachment, almost as though it were someone else entirely that suffered there. In a way, it was. Gabriel was the one that hung there and endured the pain and humiliation because that's what he was best at. Now Sylar would extract revenge because that was his specialty and it was one he excelled in.

Peter was careful not to follow too closely. He wanted to give Sylar personal space, especially when it came to investigating the circumstances of his ordeal, but he was glad to be out of the rain. His shirt clung tightly to his body and he ran his hands through his hair to wring out the excess moisture, but perhaps the most uncomfortable aspect was the fact that he was starting to get cold. He didn't think Sylar would wait for him to get a coat, so he went without and now he was regretting it as he shivered slightly. Typical of him though, he wasn't concerned with his own problems: he was worried about Sylar.

He knew that as the prime target of the Company, he had faced far more time and probably more draconian treatment than he did on Level 5 and otherwise, but despite his mother being CEO, he too was a frequent guest of the cold cells and subjected to dehumanizing handling. He knew firsthand what that did to a person mentally and something in him felt sorry for Sylar because he personally witnessed Arthur's brutality. He wondered how he was processing what happened to him. It couldn't have been easy to revisit the scene of the crime where he was so brutally traumatized only hours previous, but knowing Sylar, he would coldly analyze the details and neatly compartmentalize the data in a file somewhere in his mind and that would be that. Peter was no fool; he knew for a fact that Sylar wasn't entirely heartless, but he was deceptively good at switching his emotions off and operating on pure logic alone in situations such as these and that's what made him so ruthlessly efficient and precise.

"So what are we going to do?" Came Emily's petulant voice from outside. "We can't sleep in the house."

"Hell if I know." Arthur grumbled. "Sleep in the barn I guess."

"With the horses? And Gabriel hanging there? That's kind of creepy."

The door opened and the pair hurried in out of the rain. "Gabriel's gone." He reluctantly admitted.

"Indeed." Sylar smirked as he slammed the door behind them with a slight curl of his fingers. Emily nearly jumped out of her skin at the thunderous clatter almost as much as seeing him standing before her and Peter behind him with his arms folded across his chest wearing an intense expression on his face.

"What the hell?" Arthur asked perplexed. "How did you get your power back?" Apparently, the little twerp that was chopping wood wasn't lying after all.

"I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you." He replied in a serious tone taking a step closer and giving a low chuckle. "Oh wait. I already told you I was going to. This is the first chance I had, so here I am- as promised. But you see, this isn't just about me. I also promised the little girl you made me bury that I would kill you as well." Peter glanced at him questioningly, but didn't otherwise interrupt him.

Arthur's eyes blazed with anger. "I'm not scared of you, boy. You ain't the first to come at me."

"Perhaps not." He shrugged lightly. "But I will be the last." A slight gesture later and Arthur found himself thrown to the other side of the barn exactly where Gabriel had been strung up. Sylar used his telekinesis to clamp the bent cuffs around his wrists and took a moment to admire his work when it finally dawned on Arthur exactly what had happened. He roared and the chains rattled with his failed attempts to attack his captor, but Sylar stood calmly watching him fight the inevitable until he grew bored and turned his attention to Emily. "And now for you."

"No….no." She begged while she tried to back away from him, but she seemed to be held by some invisible force. "Peter, help me. Please!" She pleaded in panic.

Peter remained still as a statue, although he cast his eyes down and bit his lip at the sound of her cries. It was against his very nature to be complicit in such brutality, but what did she expect him to do? He knew how cruel Sylar could be and he decided that he'd seen enough abuse for one day. He slowly shook his head and went back out into the rain, turning his back on the whole affair. He told Sylar he wouldn't stop him, but he didn't have to hang around and watch, either. While Sylar was busy, he thought it best to round up what remained of Jessup's slaves to prepare them for reassignment to other farms- including Maria's. He couldn't help her or her father, but he could help others.

Sylar watched him go and turned back to his victim with murderous intent while he pinned her against a horse stall near the water trough. The horse whinnied and backed away as he stopped only millimeters from her, bending slightly to softly breathe on her face and neck. "I really could have made it better for you." He reassured her with a small, playfully cruel smile. She felt a gentle tingling sensation stroking her cheek, but out of the corner of her petrified eye, she could clearly see the tips of his long, dexterous fingers dancing in the air. "There are so many things I can do. It's a shame you won't live to see them."

Behind him, he could hear Arthur's chains rattling in another unsuccessful lunge at him. "Get away from her, you son of a bitch!" He growled in a fury. "I swear, I'll kill you!"

Sylar casually glanced over his shoulder. "You had your chance, remember?" He smirked as he returned to Emily. "Now, where were we?" He raised his eyebrows and relished in the absolute fear in her green eyes. "Right. This is the part where I tell you I'm going to kill you. You can scream if you like, but you won't have long." Just as she drew a lung full of air to shriek, he summoned the garden hose near the trough to him and used his ability to hog-tie her with it. He slowly forced her face down into the water to drown while he watched the escaping air bubbles of her last breath roil the surface a safe distance away. She struggled and kicked, but it was futile and soon enough she went limp- her blonde hair floating on the surface in waves. As far as he was concerned, it was poetic justice for drinking his water.

"No! Emily!" Arthur cried in despair. He had lost his wife and sons and now his last remaining child. "Bastard!" He spat at Sylar. "Just kill me and get it over with!"

He casually sat on the same crate Arthur did when the roles were reversed and sighed. "Don't worry, we'll get there." He promised as he looked over the former contents of his pockets still on display next to him. He picked up the bottle of Vicodin and shook it like a rattle while he grinned. "Before the night's over, you'll wish you had these. I would give them to you, but I want you to feel everything just as I did. Now that I can regenerate again, I won't be needing them." He placed the bottle back on the crate in clear view of his victim.

"What are you?" He asked with a sense of awe. He only knew specials to have one ability, but he obviously had regeneration to heal as quickly as he did and he watched him use telekinesis. How many more did he have? He was some kind of mutant super special…

Sylar paused and his voice was cold and flat. "The death of you." He answered simply with hatred in his eyes. He stretched out his hand toward the wall of the barn and the nails that held the boards in place were drawn to him like a magnet as the lumber came crashing down in a heap. The mass of rusty and bent nails looked like a swarm of bees hovering on command and Sylar held them there for Arthur to see before he sent them flying toward his human pincushion. He screamed in anguish and it was music to Sylar's ears. Tiny drops of blood formed around each hole and he watched patiently as slowly but surely, Arthur's shirt stained red. "That's what having a chip feels like." He hissed.

Almost as an afterthought, he took his victim's knife out of his pocket to slice open his own neck and use his telekinesis to pull out his own chip. It didn't surprise him that it wasn't automatically rejected by his body as foreign since the materials it was made from were completely inert, but now that he could heal he no longer feared removing it. There was a spike of familiar buzzing pain as the chip became dislodged from his nervous system and he bared his teeth, but thankfully it was short lived and the wound closed, leaving him holding the item in his hand with Arthur looking on in shock. Sylar gave an evil grin and threw the bloody control device at him, bouncing it off his chest.

"Would you like to know what that feels like as well?" He asked raising his hand slowly to level it at his victim. He sent a blast of blue electricity into Arthur in a steady stream. The nails in his body acted as conductors channeling the energy throughout his body, ricocheting from one point to another in graceful arcs. Sylar knew exactly what he was doing; it was simple science after all. In essence, he was electrocuting him to death from the inside out- very slowly. He kept the current output low so as not to burn out the sensory nerves that detected pain in an effort to prolong the agony. There was no limit to his patience and he kept it up for several minutes until Arthur's gurgling cries ceased.

He stood there silently, his sharp, dark eyes watching Arthur's body sway gently at the end of the chain and he wanted to feel something: a sense of relief, vindication, anything but the absolute numbness that filled him. Arthur and Emily got what was coming to them for everything they did to him- and to the girl he buried and everyone else they abused in the name of power, so he certainly didn't feel any sense of remorse, but it also wasn't nearly as fulfilling as he thought it would be. He took one last look at his handiwork, reached down to the crate, and once again pocketed Maria's watch.

Peter heard it all despite trying to focus on his self-imposed duty. The rain was finally letting up and he stood in the yard with the few remaining slaves and their meager belongings. Half were going with him to Maria's and the other half were going to the same man that owned West and Luke. When he realized the screaming in the barn had stopped, he cautiously entered to see Sylar's victims in gruesome detail, but Sylar himself was nowhere to be found. He called his name and looked all over for him, but the barn was silent. The far wall had been more or less ripped out and he investigated to see if he went in that direction, but naturally, there were no footprints to follow and he peered into the dark woods beyond and frowned.

He was simply gone…again. But this time he knew there would be no catching or following him unless Noah was right and a trail of bodies began to show up.


	31. Moving On

**Chapter 31- Moving On**

In the weeks that followed that awful rainy night, Peter kept busy trying to manage the influx of new acquisitions and all of the questions they had about the mysterious man that murdered their awful owner. For the most part, he deflected their hushed inquiries and he was a little dismayed that they viewed Sylar as something of a folk hero for his actions. He understood that they suffered under Arthur's ownership, but he couldn't bring himself to celebrate the man's death as though he won the lottery either.

The house seemed just a little lonelier now that Hiro and Ando were gone as well. While Maria's plan didn't exactly go off without a hitch, it still had a happy ending. Ando did go to Tipton, but the intended buyer was delayed by a few days and he missed his connection with Hiro in Minnesota, but they were eventually reunited in Canada and by all accounts were doing well now that they were free of their chips. Not surprisingly, Hiro vowed to make it his mission to help other specials by simply teleporting them to Canada or Europe himself. Why climb a ladder when you can jump to the top? He offered to come back for his former colleagues, but they all preferred to work within Maria's system in part because Hiro was only one man, even if he was stubbornly determined, and there was still a need for the ladder to function to keep funneling people north in a steady stream. Mohinder, Matt, and Peter all decided to stay because in reality it wasn't so bad for them and they believed in her cause enough to forgo their own freedom to help others achieve theirs. Peter also stayed for Maria's sake, although he never outright said it.

Something had undeniably changed for Maria since her encounter with Gabriel. Although she smiled bravely and continued her work on the quiet dissemination of the serum to friends while publicly pretending to support the slave system, it was as if she had lost a part of herself. All too often, the house was permeated with a sense of sadness and it drove Peter mad because no matter what he tried, he couldn't fix it. Sylar's presence had altered the very fabric of their existence and there was no going back. He sometimes wondered if he should have left him hanging in Tipton's tent that day. Someone else may have eventually bought him, but in the end he couldn't see doing it any other way. Realistically, it would have been a death sentence and he knew it. Either Tipton himself would have killed him eventually, or chances were he would have been bought by someone like Jessup who would have punished him to the point of death for his defiant nature, or he would have ran away and been caught just like he did, but Peter and the others wouldn't have been there to help him and he would have been executed for his insolence. Any way he looked at it, persuading Maria to buy him was the only real option that day even though he couldn't have anticipated the consequences of his mercy.

While going through her desk looking for a pen one day, he found the gold bracelet he ordered still in its box. He removed it and faintly smiled when he read the inscription: Gabriel Gray- property of Maria Siegel. He didn't know exactly what was behind the sadness Maria felt or why she chose to keep the bracelet, but he hoped it wasn't anything romantic because things could have been so much worse if she got involved with him in that way. It was none of his business to question if an affair such as that would be dishonoring Bryant's memory, but one thing was for sure- Sylar could never be the man Bryant was for her. He wasn't exactly what one would consider boyfriend material and despite all of his abilities, he could never give her what she truly needed or deserved. The very thought of it pissed him off. How was it Sylar kept falling into piles of gold and never seemed to appreciate it? It was as if he carried a leprechaun in a pocket of the dark clothes he always wore, never worrying about the outcomes of his actions because he knew luck was always on his side.

He tried to muddle through his days the best he could, content to know that each day he worked he brought one more person closer to freedom by doing the most mundane of tasks and today was no different. He stopped in the garden to check on two of Arthur's former slaves, ordered more cleaning supplies, picked up the dry cleaning and made a stop at the post office and it wasn't even lunch yet. He breezed through the house with mail and packages in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. He used his telekinesis to open the door to Maria's library and started to smile when he spotted her at her desk, but he noticed she had company and he shot her a panicked look. He couldn't believe he let himself get so sloppy to forget to knock first and use his power so openly; he hoped it wouldn't cause any trouble. "It's ok, Peter." She laughed at his stunned expression. "It's just Noah." Noah turned in his seat and smiled in amusement.

"Oh." He sighed with a relieved smile. "Thank god." He nodded as a greeting to Noah and plopped the pile of mail down on her desk. "Know anybody in Italy?" He asked her knitting his brows in suspicion.

"No," She replied equally perplexed. "why?"

"You got a package postmarked from Florence." He gestured to a small, plainly wrapped box with her name neatly printed on it and no return address.

Noah eyed it from where he was sitting and observed, "Whoever addressed it was left handed."

She looked at the package and smiled in confusion at his suggestion. "How do you know that?" He never ceased to amaze her with the random things he seemed to just know for certain.

"The letters slant forward." He stated as though everyone knew this. "People who are left handed have to turn the paper 45 degrees so they can see what they are writing and it causes the letters to slant forward when you hold the paper straight." He chuckled and asked, "Do you know any left handed Italians?"

"Just the fabulous Petrelli brothers and I think they are both right handed." She glanced up at Peter and he saluted her with is coffee cup and his endearing lopsided grin.

Although she wouldn't normally tend to her mail while she had a guest, the curiosity was killing her. With Noah's gracious permission, and his unspoken piqued interest, she carefully opened the small package to find a black velvet bag and a grey velvet covered box resting next to it. She pulled apart the string closure of the bag and dumped out the contents in her hand. She smiled in disbelief to see her Ebel watch that she had given to Gabriel to fix. It went missing along with him and she never expected to see it again, but it had been polished and returned in better condition than she left it.

"Well," Peter shrugged, "Sylar's not Italian, but he is left handed."

"He sent you a watch?" Noah asked mystified. The very first thing that popped into his mind was the possibility that it was some kind of calling card. It would fit him perfectly, although if that were the case, he didn't plan on having many victims because it was a fairly expensive item.

"It was mine. He returned it." She explained while she slowly opened the grey box. Her eyes went wide and she gasped. "This wasn't mine." Resting in the box was a beautiful silver watch with a clean and simple yet elegant design- clearly well made and very expensive.

Peter craned his neck and read the gold lettering printed on the silk lining of the lid, "Vacheron Constantin- Geneve 1755." He nodded in appreciation. "That's…that looks like some pricey bling."

"Constantin is considered one of the best timepiece companies in the world." Noah seemed impressed despite himself and he had to question Sylar's motive for such a gift. She glanced up at him with another curious look and he added, "I used to travel to Switzerland frequently and no one does timepieces better than the Swiss."

Tucked in the box was a small piece of paper. She unfolded it and in the same neat lettering was a note that read simply, "From someone else with impeccable taste." She smiled when she remembered that was what Gabriel said about the Shakespeare book Bryant bought her. "But how did he get this?" She wondered aloud.

"It's probably better you don't ask." Noah warned shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He knew that brand of watch often ran north of a million dollars and he could only imagine it was stolen- directly from a shop or off the cold dead wrist of one of his victims.

At the very bottom of the box was a photograph. It was taken from a table in an outdoor café, the empty trellis chairs and tables scattered like leaves among the perimeter of red geraniums that marked the establishment's border on the sidewalk. In the distance was a statue surrounded by pigeons in an open cobblestone square flanked by an impressively ornate marble building that could have been a cathedral. On the back were the words 'La dolce vita'

Peter laughed. "The sweet life, huh? I'll bet he thinks it is."

She gently placed the box on her desk and smiled warmly. She didn't know where he got the watch or why he chose to send it to her, but in her mind she took it as his way of thanking her without explicitly doing so. At any rate, she was genuinely glad to know that he was doing well after he dropped off the face of the Earth weeks ago. Although she knew he was more or less invincible with his abilities intact, she couldn't help but worry about him the same way she still worried about Micah, Molly, Claire, Hiro, and Ando. They had all touched her life and gave her meaning and purpose; Gabriel was no different in that respect even if he was just a little more special to her- just like Peter. Even though Peter and Noah had subsequently filled her in on some of his past, she chose to remember the man she knew for a week rather than the one that rose from the dead on her lab table in the basement and was responsible for the death of her husband. She didn't know that man and still didn't entirely forgive him, but she did know Gabriel- the shy and awkwardly sweet watchmaker.

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Sylar wrapped his black coat around himself a little tighter while the cold air tousled his dark hair. The square was mostly empty save himself, some blowing leaves, and a bronze statue of an angel looking down at him with a mix of sadness and pity. It was nearly midnight and a storm was blowing in from the sea. The cold air was heavy with the smell of salt and he looked out at the dark choppy water off the western coast of England toward his homeland.

He never could have guessed that he would find himself in this position. Although the journey was long and hard he made it out, crossed the border into Canada like a fugitive, and lied about his nationality and name in order to travel to Europe. Initially he wanted to get as far away as possible and he found the warm climate and culture of the Mediterranean to be pleasant, but he soon grew restless and bored. He roamed the continent, never really stopping at any given place for anything other than food or rest before moving on. He never thought it possible, but he- the loner- actually missed all that was familiar.

Perhaps that was what made him send Maria's watch back. He originally planned to sell it to fund his journey, but it remained in his pocket as he found other means to get money. Try as he might, he couldn't identify an ulterior motive for her actions and he spent plenty of time on the pursuit. Unlike Angela who constantly had her claws in him, or Noah who had a target tattooed on his forehead, or any of them for that matter, she didn't try to force him to participate in her schemes or ask for anything in return for helping him. He was still far from being her ally, but just as he respected Iago's solitary nature, she seemed to honor his. The watch meant more to her than it did him and he knew this because sometimes he would see the memories attached to it when he touched it. What he most often sensed was what he himself had always wanted: unconditional love.

It was only a stroke of luck that he found the Constantin in the home of a very wealthy socialite with an ability he wanted. He could have kept it, but it was a small act of contrition on his part to also send it as his gift to her. He knew its worth and although he could never replace what he had taken from her, he hoped in some small way that it would at least signify a slight tip of his hat to her for her efforts. He would probably never see her again, but he did have to admit that she treated him well even if he didn't agree with her continued indirect support of the system.

He shivered slightly as the wind picked up and he felt small drops of rain on his face. He didn't understand it, maybe it was because he never actually got Bryant's power or maybe his hunger was fading somewhat, but things were different for him now. He was still every bit the cold, calculating machine he had always been, but his time in the system had changed him and although it was uncharacteristic of him, it was what brought him to the square late at night in the middle of a storm.

"Sylar," came a small, world weary voice, "always on time, as usual."

He turned to see Claire's small frame before him, her blonde hair whipping wildly in the wind. She didn't look at all happy to see him and he suspected she still held her grudge against him for taking her power. She would have to let go sooner or later, he reasoned, forever was a very long time for them to be around and he wasn't about to apologize. "What else would you expect from a watchmaker?" He smirked.

"An _evil_ one." She spat. He couldn't blame her for her mistrust, but he didn't feel as though he owed her an explanation for his motivations either. Her eyes softened a little and she asked in a quiet voice, "Did you really kill the Jessups?" There was something almost hopeful in her voice and it gave him pause. He knew she was at Maria's before him, but he never considered the possibility that she too experienced their sadistic tendencies. He assumed Peter would have stopped her from going over there… He gave her a small affirmative nod and she seemed to be relieved by it to his surprise.

They were joined by another figure who remained in the shadows and it was obvious that the meeting was going to be short. "Sylar." Nathan greeted hastily while he glanced around nervously. It just wouldn't do for his career back home if he was caught consorting with his illegitimate special daughter and a supervillian serial killer. His large, brown eyes were earnest yet cautious. "You sure you want to do this? I was quite surprised to hear that you of all people were signing up."

"Why would it surprise you?" He asked narrowing his eyes. "Do you know what they do to people like us?" _I can't even sneeze without an alarm going off somewhere…_

Nathan gestured for him to lower his voice and he sighed. "Yes, I am well aware and I have been trying to end it through diplomatic channels, but I think it might take a push from the inside to get the job done."

"I'm not in it for political purposes." He clarified in a menacing tone. "I just want to go home and live my life and I can't do that so long as the system is operational. I will help you take it down, but after that I walk away and you don't follow me."

"Fair enough." Nathan reluctantly agreed. He knew that in exchange for Sylar's talents, he would later have to give him a free pass down the road, but some things were just bigger than either of them. If this plan was going to succeed, they would need someone like him on board- someone who would be willing to do the dirty work and not get caught. It wasn't pleasant, but it was realistic and if he could be trusted, Sylar was the man for the job.

"How did you find out about the revolution?" Claire asked, tucking a strip of her hair behind her ear to keep it from flailing.

Sylar quirked his eyebrow in confusion. "I don't know. I got this text message from 'Rebel' to meet you here…."

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**A/N: So thanks to everyone who reviewed, voted, and added this little ditty to alerts and favorites! It was fun while it lasted, but we have reached the end ;( **

**Before you ask, I wasn't planning on a sequel…RL is a little crazy right now….**


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